Rose Weasley, Reporting For Duty
by wutaistars
Summary: As the daughter of The Brightest Witch of Her Age, Rose Weasley was expected to be as talented as her mother. Failing that, probably as much of a Gryffindor as her father. She wants to be neither. Which is why everyone was surprised to find out that she has been chosen for Auror Training. Everyone, including her.
1. The Universe is a Stand-Up Comedian

**Disclaimer: All characters not mine, all of the plot is, and so on and so forth. Enjoy!**

**Also, thank you to Matisse Gacioppo, who's doing a lot of after-the-fact Beta work.**

* * *

**16 August 2024**

**Potter Residence**

**Godric's Hollow**

**6:00 P.M.**

* * *

_Well, stick a fork in me. Scratch that. Coat me in batter and deep fry my bum. Or serve me raw, like those Japanese rice rolls mum loves bringing home from the Muggle mart three blocks from home._

_Yes, that's quite right. I think Aurors eat nothing but raw food._

_Oh crap. I have to eat raw food all the time._

_Calm down, Rosie! For Merlin's sake!_

_Something explodes downstairs, and someone—Lily?—shrieks in delight. That can't be right. It's probably James, Fred, and Uncle George with their Blasting Bogeys; ugh, when those three put their heads together, it's equal parts disgusting and disturbing. Well, maybe a tiny bit funny._

_Jokes are funny, except when the joke is on me. And boy am I in for a big one soon. This joke is a meticulously engineered marvel of hilarity. It is a fine instrument, this joke. It was set up precisely for me. So I can meet my downfall, in a magnificent display of the Universe's impeccable cosmic timing._

_In the event of my (premature, but well-deserved) demise, I will request that my parents be given my personal effects. I plan to have this journal with me then. That way, they will finally have the answer to the burning question of the day, which is_

_How I, Rose Granger Weasley,_

_Managed to Trick the Ministry of Magic_

_Into Making Me an Auror Initiate_

_(and events thereafter)_

_I mean, it's quite offensive how shocked everyone is. Everyone. My own flesh and blood, the people I look to in times of trouble, have thrown me under the proverbial stagecoach. Well, not exactly, but come on. The way they reacted, it was like I was some ditzy buffoon who had as much chances of getting into the Auror Training Program as the Chudley Cannons ever coming back from Quidditch death._

_Maybe I should back up a bit. Around a couple of years._

* * *

This all started in my fifth year. Albus was fussing (when does he not?) about the career interview we all get around that time of the year. We, meaning Hogwarts students. I already had mine earlier during the day; girls get asked before boys, and my interview went along swimmingly.

"Your grades are adequate, Ms. Weasley, and you have a sufficient number of E's for a range of careers in the future," Professor Birchgrove, our Head of House said. "Do you have an idea as to what line of work you'll take?" she added.

I nodded, and the professor looked at me with those massive, owlish eyes. Being held in the Birchgrove Gaze is like sunbathing nude under a life size magnifying glass. I was starting to feel like crisping bacon, until I remembered I had to talk.

"Right. Um," I started. Why does my brain clog up during the most crucial moments? Professor Birchgrove raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"I was thinking of, um," I stammered. Tuesday of that week I joked with James that I wanted to be a dragon dung specialist or a Muggle Art thief, but I can hardly tell the professor _those_, can I?

Anything, Rose. Say anything.

"I have always wanted to be an Auror." Wait, what?

I'm buggered.

* * *

"You'll be _fine_, Albus," I said, flicking through _Witch Weekly._ "You're a natural."

"What did you tell Professor Birchgrove that you wanted to be, Rose?"

"Why does it matter? What I told her won't help you one bit. Might make you more nervous."

It's true, too. I really think it would have. Especially since Albus is basically a ball of fret three-quarters of the time. Which I don't understand because he practically floats through lessons on pure instinct. Also more confounding is that people think his nervousness is honest and charming. Telling him I said I want to be an Auror would send his brain into a tailspin.

Although, Professor Birchgrove apparently thought it fine, because she just gave me the list of OWLs I must achieve to enter NEWT classes geared towards Auror Training. And now here I am, fresh out of Hogwarts, a Ministry-approved endorsement in my drawer telling the Head Trainer that I am being recommended for Auror Initiate status, level 1.

My school grades were okay, which I guess played a part in my getting accepted. The bigger slice would be from the panel interview with the Ministry officials, which I'm fairly certain I bombed. Otherwise, why would they be punishing me with a slot in Auror Training? More on that later. Someone's coming down this side of the hall.

* * *

Well, that was something.

That was Aunt Ginny, asking to enter. I've holed up in one of the Potters' guest rooms in the third floor; hardly anyone bothers me when I'm here. I _Locomotor Mortis_ them when they do. They have the entire house to themselves; I just need some peace and quiet.

Also, I'm hiding from Roxanne and Victoire, because they made fun of my poetry two Christmases back, and whenever I'm writing in anything, they start quoting my verses in these sappy voices. I get it—I'm a terrible poet. No need to rub it in my face constantly.

"Rosie, dear, are you in there?" she said. I swear, Aunt Ginny is like one of those Food Channel hosts; all soft tones and subdued colors and good old home style cooking. She was rapping on the door gently, which isn't how we do things at _our_ house. Dad pounds and hollers at your locked door. Mum is worse—she'd just _Alohomora_ the lock, and dispel whatever other defensive charms you set up. Without even breaking her stride, or stopping for a breath in her outburst.

My aunt was not knocking anymore, but I knew she was still there, because there wasn't a crack of Apparition or a single footstep down the hall. I think of her standing there while I'm sprawled on one of their beds, and that gets me.

I let her in, and she smiled, holding up a plate piled with treacle tart. "I thought I'd bring you some, because you certainly wouldn't come upon a crumb of this when the rest of them are done." She shook her head. "Large family then, larger family now," she said. I nibbled at the dessert for a moment.

"Are you feeling well?" she asked kindly. I look at her lined face, and see a smudge of flour on her cheek. I shook my head.

"Want to talk about it?"

"Aunt Ginny, is it so surprising for me to have a go at being an Auror?"

"Oh, is that what you're bothered about? Want me to bring your mother here?"

"No, not really. We don't talk about touchy-feely things, anyway."

"For all it's worth," she said, putting both hands on my shoulders, "I think you're a fine witch. It's just that—well, you never really gave anyone reason to believe you'd want to be an Auror, so maybe that's where everyone's surprise is coming from."

And then a chain of Blasting Bogeys went off somewhere in the house, which made her jump and rush back downstairs, apologizing that she has to go, and cursing her brother and nephews under her breath.

Which leaves me here, with you, journal. Because I'm going to tell you a secret—see, when they send you an Auror Initiate endorsement, they include the name of your partner. Entering the training facility in itself is a test, you see, and none of my Auror relatives would tell me what kind of test. All we know is that we initiates will need to be in pairs. The partner's name is confidential and generated magically, according to age, school attended, abilities, and disposition. Every trainee has one; it's sort of like a buddy system. Don't leave the dorms without your buddy, et cetera. Your partner knows your name, you know theirs, and no one else would. Unless you tell them, of course. Which I plan on delaying for as long as I could.

My partner? The golden god of Slytherin, Scorpius Malfoy.

* * *

**Okay, so, what you think of it so far?**


	2. Feels Like a Muggle Spy Movie

**Thank you to Matisse Gacioppo for Beta-ing this, even if it's really long and stuff.**

* * *

_**18 August 2024**_

_**Potter Residence**_

_**Godric's Hollow**_

_**12:00 A.M.**_

_**Things I Know About Scorpius Malfoy**_

_He took ten 'Outstanding' OWLs,_

_he wasn't on the Slytherin Quidditch team,_

_we took roughly the same classes in school,_

_he scowls constantly, which some girls find adorable, in which case, I'm no girl,_

_their family is filthy rich (emphasis on 'filthy,' Dad would say), and_

_they also have a very public animosity towards our clan._

* * *

I put my pen down and sigh. The last one, I don't understand; we're a lovable bunch. Except when, you know, we're hurling gnomes at each other because of wagers gone sour. Or when the boys are playing Horntails and Dragon Breeders right inside The Burrow. Otherwise, we're not so bad.

Scorpius Malfoy, and probably his mother and father, think otherwise. Although I dunno for sure. He seems to be hostile towards James, Albus, and Lily, too. But he doesn't go out of his way to sneer at what they're wearing, or what their hair looks like, or what they're doing looking for Aquarius in the January night sky.

It's like he received the same talk I did from Dad before boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time. ("Make sure you beat her in every test, Scorpie, thank goodness you inherited my brains," or something similar. No, his father probably doesn't call him Scorpie. He's probably still Scorpius Malfoy at home.)

Only, he took the words to heart.

Gran Molly poked her head into the room, saw me awake, and told me to sleep because of my "big day tomorrow," the reason why the entire family's spent the weekend at the Potters' in the first place. Because for all their ribbing about my latent interest in being an Auror, they still threw me this party. I even forgot about the test for a while.

And yes, there are only still two souls who are aware that I am partners with Malfoy, and I want to keep it that way. If dad finds out, he might not let me take the test at all—or worse, he might come in and "have a chat" with the Head Trainer.

I'm sure it will only be slightly less embarrassing than the time he visited Professor Longbottom and found out that our teacher was breeding bubotubers. The professor just had to give me the bottle of bubotuber sap right in front of the class. And during Double Herbology too. And he practically announced to everyone that backside acne is normal (for the record, I had _back_ acne), and curable by the diluted sap. I wanted to shrivel up and turn to dust on the spot.

I opened the packet that the acceptance letter came in. There's a sealed letter for the head trainer, the letter for me containing information on my would-be training partner, and a map of the London Underground, with instructions for the departure area.

Charing Cross, 8 A.M. No address for the training center, no point person, nothing. Apparently, I just look for the poster of some band called the Luckless Leprachauns and wait. Malfoy will be there, certainly. But I don't know who the others will be. Or how many of us are testing.

I eased out of bed and headed for the kitchen. The house feels a lot larger without the noises, almost alien, with the lights all dim and no chatter or music filling the halls. I brushed my hand against the wallpaper, past snoring portraits of Weasleys and Potters. I can sprint this house in my sleep. I rounded the corner leading to the kitchen, and gave a start. My father was perched on one of the seats around the kitchen table, brows scrunched at the stack of papers in front of him. He was twirling a pencil in one hand and didn't see me almost die of fright. I headed for the fridge.

"Work keeping you up, dad?"

"Oh, hi, Rose." He rubbed his stubbly beard and squinted at me. "What time is it?"

"A little past midnight. I can't sleep too." I walked up to the table; he has cleared the papers away.

"Excited for tomorrow, my late blooming law enforcer?" he said.

"Oh. I think I have a stitch in my side. Ha. I can't stop laughing. Dad."

"Seriously, you came out of nowhere with that career choice."

I asked him if he could give me a hint what the test would be, but he shook his head and chuckled, mussing my hair. I swatted his hand away, and he laughed. "Don't worry, Rosie. It's not academic at all."

"I can handle academic," I protested, slightly hurt. "So it's not a paper test, eh?" I said, perking up.

"Nope." Dad stood up, files under one arm, and headed for the door. "That's all you'll get out of me."

He smiled and left. I sat in the kitchen, alone; paper or no paper, I'll kill this exam.

* * *

I think I fell asleep in there at some point, because next thing I knew, mum was shaking my shoulders and telling me to pack my bag and hurry. I peered out the kitchen window. It was still early.

"Mum, it's the middle of the night," I mumbled.

"It's half past seven, Rose, you'd do well to get to London right now," she said briskly. She had her wand over a frying pan, giving the wand a quick flick, the eggs inside sizzling merrily. She turned to me, and her eyes had a strange manic glow. Uh oh.

I know that look. Hugo knows that look. It appears one of three ways. First, before she opens one of those novels featuring dashing but flawed Healers working on preventing incurable wizarding diseases from becoming pandemics. Second, after she opens fan mail for her house elf rights organization. Third, right before she starts quizzing either Hugo or I about something she is passionate about.

"Did you crack open any of the books I said would help you prepare?" she said.

"Uhh..yeah."

"Don't lie."

"Okay, no."

"ROSE!"

"What!"

She wrung her hands. "You prepared for your OWLs and NEWTs. This isn't any different. How do you suppose you'll fare?"

"Mum, dad says it's not academic." My mother shot me a look so dark, the dawn inched back a bit.

"You are Ron's daughter," she said, exasperated. I grinned and hugged her, and she sort of patted my hand awkwardly after we broke off.

In under an hour, I was able to eat, bathe, dress up, and pack my things. Standing in the Potters' living room, I looked around to those of my family who woke up to see me off. They were all talking at once—mum, gran and gramps Weasley, Aunt Ginny, Hugo, Dad, Uncle Harry—all of them had suddenly become experts on London, the Auror exams, or both.

"—keep your eyes peeled—"

"—Trafalgar Square shops—"

"—do not jump those transtiles—"

"—called _turnstiles_, I think, gramps—"

"—that wand! Ron, I told you she might need a new one—"

I smiled. For a couple of seconds, it's like a length of cord has slinked around my feet and tethered me to the Potters' old Turkish carpet, and I had to wiggle my toes inside my shoes to brush the feeling off. "Well, I'll be off now," I said. "See you all in a bit." I waved uneasily, and Disapparated.

I arrived at an empty alley beside the Leaky Cauldron, and strode towards the station. The air was nippy with a chill unusual for this time of the month. In Charing Cross, I scanned the faces for Malfoy, or anyone I might recognize from school, but the number of people made it near impossible. I had to hold my bag in front of me as a swell of commuters pushed towards the platforms. And then, I saw it—a square of green poster a few feet from where I was. There's no way I can get there at the moment, so I waited for the crowd to thin out into the train cars, and then I walked up to the poster.

Is this really a Muggle band? I peered at the members—they look like actual leprachauns. Also, when you squint, one of them looks like our current Minister of Magic. I hope someone I know comes here soon; I feel a bit stupid contemplating a poster with such intensity.

"First time in London, Weasley? Don't strain your eyes, country bumpkin," an unfortunately familiar voice drawled. Mental—I ask for anyone, and _he_ shows up. I wanted to put off this meeting for as long as I could. I turned to smile at Malfoy, who stood beside me and had an impassive look on his face.

"Hullo. That slur was so weak, even you were bored by it."

"Only because I'm talking to you. Floor shine is much more exciting."

"You know what would be exciting? Wiping the floor with your face, you arrogant git."

"Tsk, tsk. So typical of a Weasley girl. So unladylike."

"I suppose you'd know much about being a girl, seeing as you are one."

He grabbed at his chest in mock pain, and I rolled my eyes. Anyway, a (very, very) small part of me is glad that he's here. At least he's a familiar face. I sneaked a look at the profile so many of my peers have gone crazy for at some point in their stay at Hogwarts. Frankly, I do not see the big fuss; blond hair, pointy features, gray eyes—pretty standard issue Malfoy. Right now, he was scanning the people coming in and out of the train cars, a frown on his face. He turned to me, and I pretended to be engrossed in the map of the Underground.

"Any of this seem odd to you?"

"Well, the trousers and jacket make you look very much like a Muggle, if you'd forgive me for saying. But that hat—"

"Not that," he snapped, "The departure area. We're the only ones here. Are we lost, or something?"

I rechecked the letter, asked to read his, and shook my head, biting the inside wall of my cheek. He's right. At least one more person ought to have showed up by now. I turned back to the poster and touched. Malfoy laughed. "Are you even trying? It won't be a Portkey, it's in a place with high traffic."

Why him? Of all the students I went to school with, why Scorpius Malfoy? "I knew that, okay. I was looking for something we might have missed." I started to sweep the poster's surface, checking for bumps, fine print, anything. Malfoy started checking the other notices. We probably looked like a couple of idiots, and I was starting to feel self-conscious, when my fingers brushed a strangely lumpy bit of paper. I lifted it aside and pulled out what looks like a note written on some parchment.

"Congratulations on finding me. You won't become an Auror by standing around," I read from the note. "I'd gladly point you to the training center, but I don't know where it is. There's just one person in this entire cross who knows where it is, though, but you're going to miss him if you keep reading. I'll give you a hint: make a dash for it."

"There!" Malfoy cried, pointing at a man looking our way but moving quickly towards another direction. I stuffed the parchment in my jacket and followed Malfoy, weaving through the traffic, never letting the man out of my sight. When we reached the sidewalk, the man broke into a run.

Malfoy seemed to have a plan. He overtook the man and pushed him to a side street, and when I got there, he has jinxed our fleet-footed friend, save for the head.

He looked like he was middle-aged, with a mop of blond hair and a shock of blue eyes. In the dim light of the alley, I made out a bunch of freckles on his face. He was laughing, and Malfoy looked about ready to punch him in the face. "Malfoy and Weasley," he wheezed. "Flintlock thinks of the most curious pair-ups."

"Who are you, and what do you want?" Malfoy said. The man cackled even harder.

"You tackle me, drag me to a dark place, bind me, and now you ask me what _I_ want? Aren't you cheeky."

"Sir," I ventured, "May I ask what your name is?"

"Aurelius Urquhart," he said. "And good job for advancing this quick to stage 2. Most initiates take about an hour to figure out no one else is coming."

"Well, we found you now," I said. "Tell us where the training center is."

"Won't be that easy, dear girl," he said. "You have proven your capacity to think for yourselves, but there are many other things you need to manifest before we waste precious department time and resources training your sorry bums. For instance, there's stage 2." He undid the jinx with relative ease. Malfoy and I whipped out our wands.

"That is right," he said, laughing again. What is wrong with him? In gasps of breath, he said, "Stage 2 is, you have to fight me."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading and stuff. Will update soon. **


	3. University Town

"_Repello Muggletum!"_

The few square feet of and above the alley shimmered with pale orange, and Malfoy brought his wand back in front of him. Urquhart kept still, eyes darting between our faces and our wands. Slowly, he turned his back to us to reach into his back pocket for his wand.

"Weasley. Wait for him to level the wand before you strike," Malfoy whispered from the corner of his mouth.

"Why the bloody hell would I do that?" I whispered back. "He's unguarded, it's the best time to attack!"

"Just—trust me okay," he muttered. "And whatever you do, don't attempt a direct hit." I nodded reluctantly. We watched Urquhart raise the wand inch by inch.

The Auror's wand tip was almost level with our chests when I shouted, _"Stupefy!"_

Malfoy ran as Urquhart managed to deflect my attack and launch his own. His Stunning Spell grazed my shoulder, and my wand clattered to the ground. My arm froze up, and jets of light soared over my head as I scrambled for the wand with my good hand. I tried to stand, but my knee slipped into a puddle of water and scraped the jagged concrete at the bottom.

I looked up to see that Malfoy has climbed a third or fourth storey fire exit, and was firing at Urquhart down below, who was flicking his spells away like they were puffs of dust. He was headed towards the exit ladder, and Malfoy was looking increasingly panicked. I shot at a couple of trash bins just behind Urquhart, who looked around to see what made the noise. At that moment, I hit him with a Leg Locker Jinx. He pointed at the fire exit.

"_Relashio!"_ The ugly sound of unhinging metal echoed in the alley, as the exit broke. Malfoy's limbs thrashed in the air as he tried to hang on to anything that might break his fall. It looked unreal—and Urquhart just stood there, looking intently at Malfoy, and occasionally at me. I remembered I had a wand, and cast a Cushioning Charm on Malfoy. He landed softly on the ground, and turned to the Auror.

"_Obscuro!"_ he cried, swathing black mist around the other man's eyes.

"_Accio Urquhart's wand," _I said. His wand zoomed to me and I let it fall, both hands being unable to catch it. Malfoy picked it up.

"Not bad,"the Auror shouted to the sky, eyes still Obscured. At that moment, a wad of parchment appeared in one of his hands. With the sheaf, he gestured vaguely towards our direction. I expected Malfoy to give Urquhart back his wand, but he hung back.

"Come _on_, Malfoy. He's not going to attack." I said. He glowered at me.

"Well, yes and no. If this were a real duel, I most definitely would. But it isn't, so I won't. Kindly approach me initiates, as you have to acknowledge these test scores." We walked up to him, and handed him his wand. With a flourish, he undid our jinxes. He gave me a look and tossed me a tablet.

"For that," he said, pointing at my paralyzed arm. I popped the tablet in my mouth, and immediately, the feeling returned. Brilliant. I flexed my arm, and the Auror smiled, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

I took the sheet with my name."Acceptable. Huh."

"It's not so bad," the Auror said. "It's either Acceptable or Unacceptable, and I'm guessing you'd rather stick with your rating. Come on, you need to get to the final stage." I gaped at him, and he shrugged.

"Don't hex the messenger," he said, sticking his wand back into his pocket and clamping two hands on our shoulders. As we swirled into darkness, I felt a churning in my stomach that I'm not about to chalk up to motion sickness.

* * *

At around five P.M., we were standing behind a Boots Pharmacy outlet just off Kingsbridge, beside discarded shopping carts and cardboard boxes. Across the street is The Elderflower (closed for repairs), hopefully our way into the training center. Urquhart left us hours ago, and the passing of time was chipping away at any semblance of civility Malfoy and I have for each other. A noontime sandwich didn't do anything to improve our moods, as Malfoy was too busy grimacing at the ingredients. Apparently, he takes cheese with fruit, not bread.

"Are you sure this is it?" he said, eyeing the empty pub anxiously. He checked his watch. "We don't have time to go look for another possible entry point. This is our last chance."

"Positive." I replied.

"You said that about all the other bogus leads."

I chose to ignore that. If this is wrong, well, I'm going home. I crossed the street and pushed open The Elderflower's rotting front door. Wearily, we both readied our wands. In the gray light filtering through the pub's boarded-up windows, I saw Malfoy exhale, his breath scattering motes of dust.

I fought the urge to run out as a piercing shriek sounded across the place. The banshees advanced toward us with skeletal hands outstretched, eerie voices like needles to my ears. My throat tightened, and air came into my lungs in gasps. Malfoy took over. He waved his wand and Spellotaped their mouths shut. The banshees started morphing. "Your turn," Malfoy said, closing his eyes, his knuckles white as he grasped the back of a chair.

An army of spiders fell upon chairs and tables, into goblets, on the chandeliers, and across the floor. Millions of hairy limbs scuttling towards us, making little shuffling noises. It _was_ disgusting, and I get why he hates the creatures. I jinxed the legs off and the spiders knocked into each other like black walnuts.

A fire, a mass of snakes, a colony of doxies—several incarnations and one particularly vengeful _Riddikulus _later, the boggarts were reduced to wisps of white smoke. I collapsed against the bar counter. Soon afterwards, we dropped to our hands and knees, crawling under the tables, peering through holes. Behind grimy wine bottles, I found it—a plastic vase decorated with overlapping leaves. Gingerly, I lifted the vase and set it on the counter. We held it by the mouth and waited.

With a sleeve, I wiped the sweat off my forehead. "I can't imagine this being another fake lead. I mean, we've checked about half of Urquhart's sheet already!"

"There's a big chance we'd be out on the street again," he said. "In any case, be prepared."

I remembered a feature about Malfoy Manor in _Wizarding Homes Monthly_, and the pictures that came with it. Among their gilded furniture and their heirloom pieces, Malfoy was photographed with his mother and father, all haughty-looking in designer robes from France or someplace fancy. And then there's this guy, who was covered in soot, dressed in Muggle clothing, and frankly, reeked the way someone would when they've been sweating under the sun all day. I was about to ask him what he's doing, testing to be an Auror, when I felt a familiar tugging at my navel. "Here we go," I yelled, the dank gloom of The Elderflower blurring all around me.

* * *

My face slammed against concrete, and I felt the vase skid a few inches away. A throbbing pain started between my eyes and bloomed down my face. Wish I had one of Urquhart's super pain killers right now. Beside me, Malfoy curled up, clutching at his stomach. I looked up, expecting Boots and its trash bins, but instead I found myself facing several pairs of shoes. With feet—took me a couple of seconds to realize that the shoes had feet, and that the feet were connected to people. Who were staring down at us. I opened my mouth to speak, but all that came out was a gurgle of pain.

"Good of you to join us, Miss Weasley and Mister Malfoy," a voice said. I got up slowly and faced the speaker. By her voice, she was probably just a little older than me, but her square-framed spectacles made her look more grown up. She wore her shoulder-length brown hair in a ponytail, gold studs in each ear, and deep blue robes emblazoned with the crossed wand and quill of the Auror Instructors. Under the logo was a patch that read 'J.H. Tuttle.' She seems like the kind of person who can do fifteen things at once.

"I'm Instructor Joana Tuttle, and I'd like to welcome you to the Auror Training Division." She gestured at the people standing with her. "I was telling the other initiates that we're just waiting for any stragglers, like yourselves."

"We're the last to arrive?" Malfoy said.

"Among the last," Joana said, consulting a clipboard. "All true Portkeys will deactivate after the quota is reached." I looked around at the other initiates as Joana introduced them one by one. I couldn't remember all their names, but I recognized a few from school. Malfoy had already begun to chat up Kurt Pucey, who was a Beater for the Slytherin team, and a dark-haired witch whom I only knew by face.

"Hi! You're a Weasley, right?" a girl near me said. "Agnes Proudfoot," she thrust out her hand jauntily, and I took it. She came up to my ears and had wavy, sandy brown hair. Her hazel eyes almost disappeared under the fleshy apples of her cheeks, and she had a toothy grin. Her thick arms had a smattering of different-sized moles, and she was wearing a billowing floral sundress paired with brown galoshes. She reminded me of those round, smiling ladies on the labels of cookie tins.

"Rose Weasley. I think our fathers are workmates. Who are you partnered with?"

"Oh, yeah, I remember you from those Ministry galas. Wild! I got here with Lorcan Scamander, over there." She pointed at a lanky, long-haired boy reading in one corner. "We're next door neighbors, so we go way back. Arrived a couple minutes before you, and we came from a public ladies' room in some kind of shopping district. Anyway, thank _Merlin_ we all grabbed a sensible Portkey, right? I'd have hated to go home not being a proper Auror trainee. My brothers would'a teased me to no end. "

"Good to see you, Misters Wood and Dawlish. You make numbers nineteen and twenty," Joana said, and we turned to see a couple of boys sprawled on the floor, looking dazed. Connor, whose family occasionally comes over, is an old friend. His father's a spectacular Quidditch player for Puddlemere United. Lionel I don't speak to much, but he's in Gryffindor with Connor and I.

Joana instructed us to fall in line. Now that I had my bearings, I looked around to see that we were in a courtyard of some sort, with thorny rosebushes and wild hedges, and a stone rampart looming ahead. "The Tower," Joana said, sweeping a hand at the structure. She marched us through the wall's colossal wooden doors, which opened as we approached. "This is where the demonstrations, drills, and lectures take place. There are also living quarters for students, a couple of bookstores, lots of places to eat, an infirmary, a complex for independent training, and facilities for recreation and rest."

The Tower looked more like a walled city than a tower. It was several football stadiums across, with buildings, houses, patches of gardens, a Quidditch pitch, and even a small park with boys and girls milling about. Some of them carried books, some were chatting, and others were trying out spells on their friends. "Levels 2 and 3 initiates," Joana said. She acknowledged a couple of students who waved at her.

"This way, Level 1," she called out to our group. She led us into the lobby of one of the buildings. I sneaked a look at Malfoy, who seemed to be hanging on to everything that tall witch was telling him. Since we got here, he never once did so much as look at me. I knew this would happen, but I wish he'd be warmer. I mean, I know what he's _afraid_ of—that has to count for something, right?

I realized I had been staring for quite some time, because when I caught Agnes' eye, she gave me a thumbs down and pretended to barf.

"Don't get ideas," I said.

Joana cleared her throat. "You will be housed here with the other Level 1 sections. There are five sections for each Level. Within the next couple of days, the building will fill up with the rest of the students, some coming from other parts of the world just to train with our Ministry." At the last sentence, she seemed to glow with pride.

She started handing around sheets of paper. "That's your class schedule, and your dorm room number. Term officially starts September 1. You can shop for requirements at the Tower Alley, we're pretty well stocked. But if you wish to get your supplies elsewhere, or want to visit your families, just inform the Administration. In the morning, you may retrieve your personal effects from your respective homes. For now, please use the night shirts and toiletries available in your rooms." She grinned at us. "Aurors often remember Training as the best days of their lives. Hope it's the same for all of you."

Joana waved good bye and exited the Level 1 dorms. We initiates looked at each other uncertainly, until people started talking all at once and going up to their dorm rooms. "Agnes, where'll you be?" I said above the din.

"One twenty-one," she said. My heart swelled with relief; I'd hate to room with someone I haven't spoken to. We climbed to the second floor, where we found a door with our names on the plates. Two other plates were there, right under ours, both blank.

"Do you think we'd be rooming with weirdos or something?" I said as I pushed my wandtip on the pad under the doorknob.

"I hope not," Agnes said, as I swung our door open.

The walls were bare, save for a large rectangular window on one end. Each corner of the room had empty shelves, a cabinet, and a bed with identical dark blue sheets. On the pillows were the promised toiletries and change of clothes. We grabbed these and made a beeline for the lavatories. Back in the room, as soon as her head hit the mattress, Agnes started snoring. I stared at the shadows on our ceiling for a long time before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Thanks for reading. Reviews and constructive criticism are very much appreciated. **** Hope to update soon~**


	4. Shaken and Stirred

**This chapter contains alcohol consumption. Depending on where you live, it's underage drinking, as Rose and company are 18 here. So if you're not okay with that, you can skip this one. Just come back next week. :)**

**And, the pretty Merida cover photo is by Seanchaithe, at DeviantArt.**

* * *

_**1 September 2024**_

_**Room 121**_

_**Auror Tower**_

_**7 A.M.**_

_I made a mistake._

_As a student of the Ronald Bilius Weasley School of Catastrophes, I can say that this is not the most substantial I committed, or the most ill-advised. Those would be interviewing for the Auror Program (the former), and trying to convince my mum to get me a house elf because I didn't want to clean my room (the latter)._

_No, this isn't the worst, or the stupidest; although if my cousins ever hear of this, I suspect I'll never hear the end of it. We'd be camping our wrinkly selves in front of a fireplace, and they'd all be, "Remember that time when Rosie did That Thing when she was training to be an Auror? What an idiot."_

_I wish we could go back in time; I'd return to the first of March and knock myself unconscious. That way, no more trip to the Ministry, no more personnel amused by my "charmingly quaint answers," no more endorsement stamped 'approved,' no more initiations, no more That Thing, which was about bleeding_

_Horklumps! I chucked a barrel of horklumps down the sewage to see if they would float! And they don't!_

_Not really. I'm just buying time. I'd rather eat earwax Every Flavor Beans than admit it, even to a piece of paper. But I realize the need to get this out of my system, because classes start in twenty-four hours._

_Here goes._

A few hours ago I was at one of the fields near the third year dorms. There's a bonfire, according to Agnes, and she dragged me and our roommates down from our side of the tower to join the festivities. Deirdre and Gina are nice enough people, but we don't talk much. Hence, we had possibly the quietest corner in the area.

"I got us more beer!" Agnes hollered above the music and the buzz of excited voices. She was levitating bottles in front of her, and she proceeded to nudge our knuckles with the glass until we opened our hands to grab them.

"Another one? Agnes, I really don't think—" Deirdre started, but she was drowned out by whoops of delight from some second years nearby. Poor girl. I saw her lining up her books earlier today; she was probably getting ready for a quiet night in. She squeezed her eyes shut as she chugged, and Agnes burst into appreciative laughter.

"I am going back to the dorms after this one Deirdre, if you wanna come back," Gina said. She signed up for our level's Quidditch team the morning she got here. I smiled at her.

"Don't want to miss the practice games tomorrow, huh?" I said. She nodded.

"The Fitchburg Finches hit me up with a spot in their reserve team right after school, but being an Auror seemed fine too," she shrugged. "Thought I'd keep playing."

"You're from the U.S. and you didn't tell us?" Agnes, who adores foreign cultures, proceeded to grill Gina on all things American. I turned to Deirdre, but I found that she was already talking to this first year I often see reading on the steps of the library. They were giggling about some wizard who married into Muggle royalty when I spotted a familiar blond head across the bonfire.

I know I had a silly grin on my face as I made my way to the other side of the field, excusing myself as I stepped over students in various states of rest on the grass. Malfoy—Scorpius—was staring at the fire, a cup in hand. He would occasionally nod at passers-by, talk briefly with others, but he didn't look like he was with anyone.

"Look at you," I said, plopping beside him. "Mucking about with the hoi polloi, Scorpius?"

"What do you want, Weasley?" he said, taking a swig from his cup. I found myself staring at his hair again, which seemed to glow in the light of the fire. I must have looked like I got my brains sucked out or something, because he when he turned to look at me he had this strange expression on his face.

I was thinking; _I need to touch his hair. Just one fistful_. I leaned closer to him, and he switched from looking puzzled to looking slightly alarmed. I moved in slowly and stretched my hand out.

"Weasley, what in Merlin's beard—Weasley—Rose!" I jumped. For some reason forever lost to me now, I laughed at this, which probably confirmed to Scorpius that I, indeed, am a nutcase.

"Say it again," I said.

"Say what?"

"My name. Say 'Rose'."

"Rose."

I smiled at that. And then, he yelped as I swept my hand through his hair.

"Are you off your rocker?" he cried, which triggered another giggling fit. He looked about ready to call me thirty different types of insane when he sighed and stared back at the fire.

"You have great hair," I said after probably a couple of minutes of not speaking.

"Thank you." He said after a longer stretch of silence.

"I wish I had hair like yours. Instead, I have the Burning Brush."

"It looks—robust," he said. "And, there's—lots of it," he added.

"My hair can comfortably nest five baby owls," I said morosely. "In pictures, I look like a fire tree." He let out a snort and hastily gulped down the rest of his drink.

I tapped his shoulder. "Hey, Scorpius, let's play a game."

"I'm not a child, Rose."

The group was thinning out, because many initiates were heading back to their dorms. I looked towards my dorm mates—Gina and Deirdre were gone, but Agnes, who found Lionel Dawlish, was playing Exploding Snap with him.

"Come on. It'll be fun, trust me."

"Give me a reason why it'll be fun."

"Because we're both pickled beyond belief! Later, we'll go to sleep, have a massive headache when we wake up, and get rid of it in time for the Welcoming Ceremonies at sundown. By then we'll forget all about this conversation. You'll be—" I poked him weakly in the chest, "—your usual puffed-up self and we'll be nothing but training partners. But right now, we'll play a good game. How's that sound?"

He was staring at me with a blank look on his face; I took it that he was much more intoxicated than I was, and was about to call the whole thing off, when he smirked and said, "Okay."

I staggered away from the fire and approached a grassy hillock. Scorpius was several paces behind me. As I started to climb, he called out, "D'you need help?"

"I can handle it," I said. "You go worry about yourself."

This knoll is not terribly steep, but it was high enough to give us a good view of the party on the field. I was doing cat stretches when he heaved himself over the edge.

"Well, what now?" Scorpius said.

"Now, we roll down!"

"You are corking mad, it—" the rest of his sentence, I didn't hear, because I lay down, stretched my arms above me to rest on the grass, and pushed myself down the hillside. And rolled all the way down. When I reached the bottom I climbed back up to where he was.

"It's refreshing; you should really get to it."

"How refreshing is it to have bits of mud and grass stuck on your person?"

"Just do it, Scorpius, how tight arsed can you get?" I tried to slap his back, but I missed, and I hobbled towards the edge. I was prepared to fall down when I felt two hands clamp my arms and pull me back.

"I think you should go back to your dorm now," Scorpius said, releasing me when I got my footing back. I shook my head so violently I feared my neck would snap.

"You haven't rolled yet," I said. He rubbed his eyebrows for a moment. Then he lay down and pushed to fall. I laughed as I half-walked, half-ran, cheering him on as he tumbled. I came to a stop when he got up.

"See? It's fu—" my 'n' got lost in a deluge of wet-sounding syllables as I hurled. I got sick all over my hands, all over Scorpius' nice robes, and it just kept coming. I pushed him away and sprayed the ground instead. I dimly heard him swear, and say "Scourgify!"

"You're a right mess, Weasley." Scorpius led me away from the field. Somehow, we made it back to the first year dorms and in front of the right room.

"Here you are," he said.

"Well, you better get going, too," I said. "Your head's gonna hurt worse if you don't get enough sleep." He smirked.

"It won't, not really," he said, walking down the hall. "I'm sober as hell. That was fruit juice."

* * *

_It's not true what they say about forgetting whatever you did in a drunken haze. You do remember. Curiously enough, if Scorpius was not drunk, why did he agree to the whole hill business? To make fun of me? To have something to lord over when training starts? Or, maybe, because he wanted to? I cannot even begin to understand what goes on in his head._

_Oh, horrors. I vomited on Scorpius Malfoy's silk-trimmed clothes. When I look back to this day, one of my first as an Auror trainee, I'm going to remember That Thing. Or rather, that series of things._

_I better start picking out those earwax beans now._

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**A/N: So that's it for now. Thank you for reading on; next chapter the real Auror training starts. Tell me what you think!**


	5. Resocialization

**Again, thanks to Matisse Gacioppo for sticking around and correcting the grammar errors. :D**

* * *

I woke up to the sound of shrill sirens and red lights outside our window. The watch Hugo gave me at the end of seventh year read five o'clock, and I groaned. My roommates were stirring as well.

"It's September Second! Rise and shine, maggots, party's over," a deep male voice thundered above the din. "You have five minutes to get ready for breakfast. First level Initiates, Instructor Tuttle will join you for the first class. Now get to it!"

We slogged through getting ready, and ambled down to the mess hall. Agnes was surreptitiously trying to scratch her armpits, and Deirdre's face was scrunched up, like she wanted to do nothing more than just fall back into bed. Only Gina seemed awake enough. Even I felt like I was robbed of sleep.

The mess hall certainly lived up to its name. Students of all levels were bustling around, grabbing plates and bowls, walking to and from a table groaning with food. There seemed to be no restrictions to where people could sit, so we chose a small table near the door. I made my way to our table, overhearing snippets of conversation from those I passed.

"—thinking of taking up Experimental Charms, I need a new elective—"

"—shifted majors again! Don't know what is with that guy—"

"—try to get noticed by one of the Societies—"

"—Celestina Warbeck, and she doesn't look older than thirty—"

I sat down and was just starting to dig into my mashed potatoes when a bell sounded, making several of us first years jump, but the others seemed used to it. With smooth efficiency, the upperclassmen filed out of the room, leaving us first years. Instructor Tuttle was already leading some of us to the doors, and I crammed what I can into my mouth as I ran after them, my roommates doing the same.

Mental note: breakfast during training days, not a leisurely affair. I hope weekends are different.

Tuttle led our happily chattering group to an indoor field with a round, raised platform at the middle. Behind the platform was a wall that spanned the length of the field. She climbed the stage, touched her wand to her throat, and bellowed; "Attention!" everyone fell silent. She adjusted her glasses and spoke.

"Good morning all. Your first session, as you have hopefully read in your schedules, is with me. I will be your first Auror Resocialization instructor. We have two other classes like this throughout the day; one at noon, and another after dinner. These will help change your way of thinking from civilian to law enforcer. Before we can proceed with other, more dangerous tasks, we must accomplish this."

She flicked her wand, and a phoenix feather quill, some parchment, and a stool appeared on the stage beside her. "Meet Flintlock," she said, gesturing at the furiously scribbling quill. "It is bewitched to take note of your abilities and generate a training partner who can keep up with you. Tomorrow, or next week, or next month, you may notice that you have been paired with another person. For today, though, please meet up with your defaults and fall in line."

I could not look Scorpius in the eye as he slipped in the empty space between me and Connor Wood.

"Morning, fire tree," he drawled, eyes full of malicious glee. So this is how it'll be. Ugh.

"What's so good about a morning with a Malfoy," I shot back. "Make my day, will you?"

"I don't want to give you a hard time, the owls in your hair might cry."

Embarrassment flushed my cheeks warm as Connor stared at us strangely. I shook my head, trying my best to keep my expression neutral. "Don't mind him. Got dropped in the toilet as an infant." I stared firmly ahead, trying to concentrate on what Tuttle was saying. I'll get Scorpius later.

"…is physical fitness. You might be able to cast spells, but if you're gasping for breath and unable to lift your hands due to fatigue, we have a problem," Tuttle said. She proceeded to make us do a series of exercises, which were okay. Some people even resumed their chattering. After the last set of pushups, I looked over at Agnes and Lorcan. They seemed to be laughing about something Lorcan said, and I felt a stab of jealousy.

* * *

"Alright, that's quite enough." Tuttle flicked her wand and the wall behind her disappeared, revealing the rest of the field, which had an imposing obstacle course. There were areas to climb, areas to swing across, and others where it appears like I must run from something. I gulped.

Something intense flickered across Tuttle's face, and I was greatly reminded of my mum. "You must pass the course as a pair. If you don't, it's kitchen duty for two weeks. First up, Weasley and Malfoy. Go!"

A loud bang issued from Tuttle's wand and I ran. Scorpius was right beside me, keeping up with relative ease. We both grasped a braid of rope on a wall and started to climb it. I had no idea how to do this, and mercifully, he didn't either. He tried blasting a hole through the wall but it would just repair itself. I tried going around it to get to the other side, but I just bounced off some sort of invisible barrier.

"Are you trying to make me laugh? Quit fooling around! Scale that wall!" our instructor screamed. They were meters away but I swear I saw her neck veins in high relief. I grabbed the rope, planting one foot on the wall and pushing the ground with the other. Once both feet were stable, I started climbing.

"One leg at a time, Scorpius!" I shouted at him. He hoisted himself up, and I turned back to my own problem. We inched to the top and scrambled down the other side, where we had to extricate ourselves from quicksand. After that, we crawled under a canopy of fire, which (to my delight) was tricky for Scorpius. We vaulted, kicked, rolled, hexed, and ran our way through an eternity of other hurdles before emerging at the other side of the course.

"So much for _the best years of your life,_" I grumbled as we made our way back to the big group.

"Well done, you two," the instructor said crisply. "Your time: five minutes."

Scorpius nodded and, without a word to me, went to the back of the crowd. The second pair went up, and they ran when Tuttle gave the signal. On and on this went, until everyone in the group had a go at the course. Some people were faster than us, some were slower, but no one did less than three or more than five minutes. Finally, we had to do another set of exercises before the bell rang.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

After Auror Resocialization, there were three lecture classes. Seminar in Magical Politics was taught by Gabriel Branstone, a sour, unsmiling man who loved quoting the book he wrote on the subject. Fundamentals of Magical Criminal Law and Auror Strategies and Tactics were less tedious; the first was taught by Aurelius Urquhart, who brought our lecture hall of one hundred students to tears of laughter, and the other was by Regina Coulson, an older witch with striking features and a booming voice.

"And remember, Initiates," Instructor Coulson said as the bell rang, "You must not, under any circumstance, compromise the International Statute of Secrecy while in pursuit of a suspect. That's it for today. Class dismissed." People slowly filed out of the classroom, nattering on about lunch. I was walking along the hallway when someone tapped my shoulder lightly.

I turned to see quite possibly the most handsome man I have ever met. He was tall, had hair darker than sin, and piercing blue eyes. His broken nose only added to his charm, and he had an easy grin, which revealed perfect little rows of white teeth. He was holding out one of my books—_Advanced Defensive Spellcasting_ by Demetria Lane.

"This tumbled out of your bag, Rose," he said.

"How'd you know my name?" I squawked out. Was he a secret admirer? Did he memorize my schedule and wait for the opportune moment to talk to me? Wait till Victoire hears this!

He gave me a puzzled look. "Your name is on the cover, in sparkly purple glitter."

Oh. Right. "What's your name?" I managed to choke out. He extended his hand and I almost fainted.

"Ricky Lyons," he said, holding my hand in a vice grip of a handshake. He released his clutch, and I was unable to move several fingers for a few seconds. No matter, he's still pretty to look at.

"You should come by our Society's place, maybe you could try out. We could use a couple of new members. Bring a friend along," he said.

"What's a Society?" I asked. "I overhead a couple of second level students talking about them."

"A club of sorts. There are different ones in school. Ours is about improving your dueling skills. Why don't you try out this weekend—our headquarters is at the following address."

He wrote it down, winked at me and said goodbye, walking into the room our class just vacated. I was staring at the address, smiling to myself, when I heard an (unfortunately) familiar voice.

"Wow, he's flaky," Scorpius said. He snatched the parchment out of my hand. "What's this?"

"Give that back!" Seriously, why does he have to be everywhere? I swiped the paper from him and stuffed it in my pocket before he could read the contents. "Don't you have somewhere to go?"

"I wanted to feed the owls in your hair. Are they comfortable?"

"Yes, they're fine, thank you very much. They don't need your help." I left him there and started marching down the stairs and to the mess hall. Good thing we have hour long lunches; I've had so many interruptions to my free period so far. I grabbed a plate of roast beef and beans and plunked down beside Agnes, who waved at me when I entered the hall.

"How're your morning classes?" she said between bites of wild mushroom and rice.

"S'good. Two okay instructors and an awful one."

"Eh. I had a bland teacher for my Introduction to Magical Diplomacy class. And I was looking forward to that one too! Anyway, the second Resoc class ought to be good, right? It's for magic."

"I suppose it will," I said, distracted by Scorpius walking in to the hall. I stared at him as he ladled some pasta on his plate and bowed his head as he weaved through the lunchtime chaos. He found an empty corner and sat there, back to the crowd. He kept his head down constantly, only turning or looking up if someone says hello to him. After a few minutes, he picked up his empty plate and left swiftly.

"I suppose it will." I murmured again.

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**Thank you for reading. Reviews are appreciated~**


	6. Terminal Ballistics

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. But you knew that already.**

* * *

A bell signaled the end of our lunch period, and Agnes and I started for the practice court. We were about to enter when my roommate slapped her head.

"I forgot to tell you! I went down to get my owl post earlier, and I saw a couple of letters in your cubbyhole. Maybe it's from home."

"Thanks, I'll get them later," I said. She smiled and pushed the door open, but my stomach sank. A letter from home is the last thing I want right now. My father might have gotten wind of who my partner is, and I'd rather not think of what he has to say on the topic.

Agnes' little Dungbomb made me forget that this class is the one I've been looking forward to ever since Tuttle gave us our schedules. But when I saw my classmates muttering excitedly, I had to push my worries to the back of my head. I'll deal with that later.

"I wonder what he looks like?" I heard Deirdre say behind me.

"Never mind that—he supposedly graduated First Wand only ten years ago!" Lionel Dawlish said.

"That young, and he's Head of Ministry Security? Called in favors, I'm sure," murmured Connor Wood.

"Not his type. Not his family's type. He got in on talent," another witch said.

I saw Scorpius duck in and melt into the throng. I tried to get to him, but the doors banged open, and in walked our instructor for this period.

* * *

All movement in the court stopped as we stared at the man who just arrived. He seemed unperturbed by our sudden silence—his stride remained brusque, his gaze steady. His hair was shaved, save for a strip running down the middle of his head and ending in a ponytail. His eyes were stony black, his jaw square and set. Already both tall and hefty, he became even more imposing when he reached the podium. This man looks like the kind of person you don't wanna get in a row with about parking spaces, or about him cutting into a line, or something.

"Good afternoon, initiates," he said, his voice clearly audible across the court. "I am Ivan Shacklebolt, and I will be your Magical Resocialization instructor."

The current of excitement was palpable. We were all ears as Instructor Shacklebolt told us about the course objectives, his grading system, and requirements. Afterwards, he took out his wand, descended from the podium and sent it away with a flick.

"Alright. Let me give you a fair warning." He produced a set of targets several feet from where we stood. "I am not here to be your babysitter." He continued.

"This is not a Ministry of Magic day care center for children of employees, this is not a holiday, and this most certainly is not the place to learn the basics of magic. You are here because you passed the bare minimum, but I'm here to make life harder for you." He was now facing the targets as he talked to us.

"If you think you can coast along on the basis of surnames, you're wrong." He fired, and the spell hit one target, boring a hole through the center.

"If you think your money can save you from training, think again." Another spell, another target.

"If you think I'm kidding—" he fired a series of spells and turned back to us, letting the sentence hang.

The excitement was now laced with foreboding as he walked towards our crowd. I felt a strong urge to curl up into a ball, hum a song to myself, and close my eyes. He walked to where our class gathered, made eye contact with the girl in front of me and pointed his wand at her, making both of us (as well as several people in our immediate surroundings) jump violently.

"What's your name?" he said. She stammered it out. He beckoned her to come forward.

"Step up to where I was earlier, and try to hit the center with any spell." He waved his wand, and new targets replaced the ones he had used.

The girl pulled out her wand and pointed it at the first target. The tip was quaking as she croaked out a spell, and Ivan shouted at her to speak louder.

"Confringo!" she shouted, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. The target burst into flames, and she whimpered. The girl looked uncertainly at Shacklebolt, who stared back with impassive eyes. She tried to Blast the remaining targets with varying degrees of success. Once, she even came close to the center. When she finished, our instructor made her rejoin the ranks, something she was quick to do.

Shacklebolt swept his gaze around. "The first thing you learned in school was that magic is _intention_. Your wand is an extension of your mind. As an Auror, you need focus, because every second you spend dawdling on a spell would be the difference between a dead Dark wizard and a dead village."

Lionel raised his hand. "B-but Instructor, Voldemort has been gone for many years now."

A shadow crossed Shacklebolt's face. "Dark magic does not die with any one wizard."

I glanced at Scorpius, who had his head bowed. His unruly blond hair cast heavy shadows on his eyes, and his mouth was one hard line. When he saw me looking at him, he glowered, as if to say '_What do you want?'_

Oh-kay. Turn away now, Rose.

Shacklebolt has set up targets for each one of us, and we fanned out, choosing one each. There was some jostling for the targets farthest from our instructor. I think I saw Connor try to slip a couple of Galleons to Agnes, who had the outermost practice range. Eventually, though, everyone got settled, and Shacklebolt summoned Flintlock. The phoenix quill was poised above a fresh roll of parchment, and our instructor waited for everyone to keep quiet before he spoke.

"This aspect of Flintlock will record your accuracy with spells. Fire at will."

* * *

The court erupted with shouts and jets of multicolored light as everyone commenced their target practice. To my left, Lionel was inadvertently shredding his board with _Diffindo_. After each mutilation, his target would be replaced by a fresh one, but after several tries he still could not replicate the perfect little circles cast by Shacklebolt.

To my right, Scorpius was tearing through board after board, Blasting each one with a fury I haven't seen before. His spells landed everywhere but the targets' centers, but he just kept at it.

"Confringo," I said, pointing at my board. The resulting hole was a good inch and a half from the center. Not so bad, I think. I took a deep breath and fired a second, and a soon I have gone through a respectable number of boards myself.

After some time, I felt someone come up from behind. I know Shacklebolt was looking at our boards. I tried to not let it get to me, taking a deep breath and firing at my target. This is the closest I've come to dead center, and I turned to look at Shacklebolt, but he just passed briefly over my boards and my face before turning to Lionel's board and grilling him on his spell choice.

Huh. Oh well. Get back to work I guess.

"Mister," he said, as he watched Scorpius murder his board, "I asked for accuracy."

"Why does it matter, Instructor," Scorpius said, as he angrily punched more holes in his board, "how the Dark wizard dies? I can turn him into a pillar of ash if I was so inclined."

"The first of many reasons is that Knut-sized holes are easier to explain to Muggles than a pillar of ash. More importantly, you are to be an Auror, not a rampaging vigilante zealot. You will redo your set or I will see to it that you are sanctioned for insubordination."

Scorpius looked properly told off, and Shacklebolt moved on to torture some other poor soul. I kept to my own range, Blasting what needs to be Blasted, but my arm was starting to hurt. I switched to my other hand, but pretty soon it got tired as well. Apparently, I wasn't the only one with this problem—people were lowering their arms and massaging them.

"Who gave you leave to rest? Fire!" boomed Shacklebolt, and the spells kept flying again. I'm just running on willpower right now, but he seems to not be keen on making us stop anytime soon. This man is positively mental. Several winters passed before he told us to stop, which I gratefully did.

"That will be all for today. I will review your numbers and discuss them with you next meeting. Class dismissed." The bell rang, and people filed out slowly. I joined Anges outside the practice courts.

"Merlin's trousers, this Ivan Shacklebolt! Now I know why he's Head of Security," she said, applying General Toebright's General Ointment on her arms. I asked for a dollop for my own aching limbs.

"He seems to be a real stickler for rules; I heard him lambast Scorpius earlier," I said.

"Well, we don't have to worry about him until tomorrow. Are you free this period? Let's get your letters," Agnes said. We went down to the post master's, a soaring structure that combined a letter sorting center with an Owlery.

My cubbyhole did have two letters—one from home, and an unsigned envelope. I turned the blank envelope over in my hands—all it had was a seal at the flap, bearing the letters 'P.M.' Who?

"Will you open them now?" Agnes said eagerly. I shook my head. We made our way out of the post master's; I was thinking of all sorts of wild excuses so I can read the letters in private when Agnes spotted Lorcan, who hailed her and waved her over.

"Pardon me, sweetheart," she said apologetically. I smiled and nodded, hurrying back to the first level dorms. I practically ran into the girls' bathrooms, knocking down a couple of witches.

"She really needs to go, doesn't she," I heard one of them say as I locked myself up in a stall. I shrank the mysterious letter to fit my palm as I read the one from home.

Thank goodness it's not a Howler, but when I opened it, my heart sank a little to see that it's in mum's miniscule handwriting. So, dad has nothing to say about this, doesn't he? I began to read.

* * *

_Dearest Rose,_

_I hope things are alright at training. Hugo has gone off to Hogwarts, and he has sent an owl the other day. Seems like everything's fine—he hasn't set fire to anyone's robes yet._ _He seems acclimated to his OWL classes._

_I visited your grandma and grandpa Granger the other day. Sometimes, they still forget things, but they're mostly alright. My cousin Harvey takes care of them, and he reported that they have been asking for you and Hugo. We should see them soon._

_Rosie, your father came home a week ago with the news that you are training partners with Scorpius Malfoy. Is this true? I have no quarrel with the Malfoy child, but your father has been blustering about how apples don't fall far from trees. I realize that it is Ministry prerogative to pair people during training, but why did you hide this from us? Your father felt foolish when he was apparently the last person at work to know. Even your Uncle Harry found out before him._

_I hope you write back, and tell me how things are. And maybe, you should talk to your father—he is very disappointed._

_Much love,_

_Mum_

* * *

What a load of flobberworms. Is dad more concerned with his reputation than how I am faring with the training? I shrank this letter and restored the other one to its original size, and opened it.

* * *

_Rose Weasley,_

_Your name has been entered in the Pool of Contenders for Portus Magi, the oldest society in the Tower. Please report to the P.M. Headquarters at the second floor of #56 Tower Alley, at 8 in the Evening this coming Saturday. Your absence on said date and time forfeits future consideration for P.M._

_Portus Magi Secretariat_

_P.s. Do not reply to this letter. It is automatically generated._

* * *

I flash back to the handsome boy I bumped in the hallway, to my mother and father's faces when I left for Charing Cross, and strangely, to Scorpius blasting his boards silly. What have I gotten myself into?

* * *

**I appreciate your continued support of this fic. **** I'm sorry my updates are so few and far in between—I'm trying to make each chapter really good. If you have any questions, reactions, or whatnot, please PM me or leave a review. Thanks!**


	7. Your Mission Is--Apology Fudge

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JKR's. But you knew that already.**

* * *

_**6 September 2024**_

_**In line at the Floo Booths**_

_**The Tower**_

_**8:00 PM**_

_I have to do this. Primarily because I have nothing else to do—the last Resocialization class just ended—but also because mum's letter has been gnawing at me since I read it a couple days ago. I have to talk to them tonight, and settle the Scorpius Issue once and for all._

_The queue for the Floo Booths is always the longest at this time of the day. I've been standing here for a quarter of an hour now. Whoever thought of putting only a dozen fires for an entire school clearly do not know how long a girl can tie up a fireplace. I scowled at the lines to the other grates; why are they moving faster than mine? Why are other people's lines always faster than the one you're on?_

_Why is my stomach threatening to punch its way up my chest?_

_"Hi, mum. Is dad there?"_

_Of course he's there, Rose. It's eight in the evening._

_"Hi mum. Where's dad?"_

_Nah._

_"Mum. I realize you and dad have this whole history with the Malfoy family that no one seems to want to talk about, but apparently it involves The Battle at Hogwarts, and many other things that happened way before even Teddy could remember, but you really have to get a grip! It's in the past—"_

_Nope. Maybe I should just keep quiet and listen._

_Right now two upperclassmen came out of my booth, one of them blubbing about her dear Frankie-poo, the other avoiding eye contact with everyone as she tried to shush her friend._

_I should definitely just shut up. He's bound to get tired at some point anyway. Tell you about it later._

* * *

"Mum?"

She was sitting on her favorite armchair, teacup in hand. She saw me and knelt in front of the fire.

"Hi, Rosie," she said, smiling. My stomach eased up on the punching a tiny bit.

"How're things there?"

She waved her hand around. "Today I had some Granger cousins over for lunch. Remember Leslie? He's started uni, just like you."

"Goody. Maybe we could hang out sometime. Is he also doing bewitched obstacle courses and getting verbally abused by Ministry of Magic security officers on a daily basis?" I said. Mum frowned.

"That's hardly fair."

"Sorry." I sighed. "Dad there?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. "He won't come out here though. I told him over dinner that you'd be at the fireplace tonight, but he just grunted and asked me to pass the potatoes."

"Oh, mum…" I wanted to reach into the fireplace and—pat her or something. She looked about ready to cry. She was going splotchy around the nose, and I really find it hard to concentrate on what she says when that happens. It distracts me. I start thinking of this old nursery rhyme about tomatoes.

I know; I'm a bad child.

"Can you please try to make him come out? I really want to talk to him," I said.

She looked at me for a long time, and disappeared from view. After a while, I heard footsteps, and then my father's surly face leaned into the fire. He stared at me, arms across his chest, and pointedly waited for me to speak. I took a deep breath.

"Dad, I apologize. It was wrong to hide who my training partner is. I should have told you."

"When I came to work last Monday, everyone had an opinion. But I didn't even know what they were talking about. Couldn't tell them that my daughter didn't even mention her partner's name."

"Dad—the thing with the Malfoys, whatever it is—it happened years ago. Why are you still so upset? Scorpius is alright. He helped me with the entrance test, didn't he?"

He looked about ready to burst. I had a strong feeling I shouldn't continue, but I couldn't help it. When I start talking, I don't really stop. I spoke at length on with how he looks like a loner, that there are few Slytherins in the Tower, and that he is quiet most of the time when dad interrupted me.

"It's not the Malfoy son, although I'd rather you've been paired with someone else. It's the fact that you lied to me. Why would you do that?"

I wanted to point out that they know I've lied to them loads of times, but I decided against it. I just kept quiet and stared at the now empty armchair in the distance.

"I'm sorry," I finally said. "I wish I could do it over."

"It's okay." Dad smiled, and I found myself grinning back.

* * *

"And Agnes—you know the Proudfoots' youngest—she is my roommate," I said. Mum had rejoined dad, and they were nodding at my stories. I was recounting my first week at the Tower. So far I've sidestepped any more mentioning of Scorpius, and it's like everything's back to normal. Dad even joked a couple of times about when he was at the Tower.

"After this, I'll be at the roof of our dorms for a while. Being there helps me to think," I said.

"Why, sweetie? Anything bothering you?" asked my mum.

"Oh, just this invitation from an Auror society," I said. At this, dad perked up and demanded for details. I told him about Ricky, the letter, and what I knew so far. The more dad heard, the wider his grin became, but mum looked increasingly alarmed.

"Portus Magi? That's excellent! Your Uncle Harry and I were invited, of course, but we turned it down. It's a really good society, though. Many members advance early on in their Ministry careers."

At this, mum snorted. "_Harry_ turned it down. You were his second. You wanted to be part of them so bad you didn't speak to Harry for a week."

Dad waved his hand around. "Irrelevant details. Anyway, you should join, Rose. Plus, you can help me with this case I'm on."

"Ronald! She will not be part of any cases until she becomes an Auror."

"She won't be chasing people. I just want her to poke around a bit, see what she can find out."

"What do you want me to do?" I asked.

"I just need to know if members of P.M.—or anyone from the societies, really, since they usually stick together—has anything to do with a string of nuisance break-ins near the Tower area. Nothing severe, but the local Muggle news has started to pick up on it. So far, they're convinced they have an infestation of poltergeists, and we don't want it to get worse than it is."

"Okay, dad. I'll see what I can come up with," I said, and he beamed at me.

"That's my girl."

* * *

_**6 September 2024**_

_**Room 121**_

_**The Tower**_

_**11:00 PM**_

_So I think I ironed out the training partner situation with my parents. Kind of. We talked for about half an hour, and I left the booth with a sheepish grin and profuse apologies to the one next in line. I headed for the dorm roof, but made a few detours along the way._

_I knocked at the door of Room 152 and twiddled my thumbs. What dad told me, with the Societies being involved in petty crimes, just doesn't fit with Ricky Lyons' image. He seems like such a nice and sincere guy, I couldn't imagine him being a delinquent._

_The door opened, and I was confronted with a half-naked Scorpius._

_I stared._

_He was drying his hair with a towel, with another one slung low on his hips, and in that moment I understood why girls would practically throw their knickers at him when he passed the halls at Hogwarts. The guy is a perfect specimen of the human anatomy and its proportions._

_One would wonder if the proportionality extended to his lower half._

_"Oh, it's you," he said, rubbing an eye. "What is it?"_

_Good—he was oblivious to my momentary lapse in judgment. I wrinkled my nose and looked over his shoulder into the empty room. "Are you busy?" I said, in what I hoped was a terribly casual voice._

_"Not particularly. Why?"_

_"I have some treacle fudge. Want to share?" I saw the hesitation in his eyes, but I soldiered on. "I just wanted to apologize for snapping at you the other day, and for puking all over your clothes last Sunday. I've seen you take treacle fudge from the mess hall tables, so I know you at least tolerate it. I'll be at the rooftop, just go if you want to."_

_He closed the door in my face. I waited for a bit, but he didn't come out. It was a bit of a letdown, honestly; thought he would take the bait. I started to walk away, when he came out of the room and tapped it shut. It was only slightly disappointing to see him fully clothed._

_"Apology Fudge, eh," he said as we climbed up the stairs leading to the roof. I rolled my eyes and pretended to be annoyed at the idea, because I couldn't think of a decent comeback. I was too busy realizing how strong his jawline looks up close, all sharp edges and precise lines._

_I'll skin the cat that got my tongue._

* * *

We sat at the ledge of our dorm's roof, the box of sweets between us. He was taking liberal chomps on a slab of fudge and chewing like a contented cow. I stifled a grin and looked at the landscape. The Tower seemed quiet from this high. I could see the stone walls we came through just a week ago, running around the edge and disappearing from view.

"What do you think is outside the wall?" I said.

"Lots of trees. Or a smattering of villages with Muggle populations," he said. He pushed the box towards me, and I broke off a piece.

"I have a proposal," I said.

"If it involves throwing ourselves down the building and casting Cushioning Charms at the last minute, I think I'll pass," he said.

"No, you prat. Would you be my second?" I showed him the letter and waited for him to finish reading.

"Why not ask your friend Agnes? Her family seems to be duty-bound to produce Aurors every few years or so. She'd be over the moon."

"Well, why not you?" I said, shrugging. "You're a competent dueler. And I know how you fight."

He made a huge show of cutting a tiny square of fudge and popping it into his mouth, chewing thoroughly. I waited, my eyes never leaving him.

"Okay, I'll do it," he said after an eternity. I breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank you for helping protect the Rose Weasley Owl Reservation," I said, and he laughed.

_Circe's beets, he is gorgeous._

I didn't like how my heart seemed to think it was a good idea to start working overtime, so I racked my brain for another topic.

"Scorpius, why did you go for Auror training?" the laughter left his eyes and I immediately felt bad. "Or you can choose not to answer that, if it's too personal," I added.

"Auror training has a stipend, and I need it," he said.

"But you're a Malfoy," I said. "You don't need money. Isn't it true that your manor is on top of a goldmine, and that Gringotts has been after it for decades?"

"No, that's completely out of this world. Goldmine, really? The things people think up," he said.

"In any case, you're still doing pretty well, whether or not you can put the bank out of business. So, why sign up for this?"

He sighed. "It's—complicated. How about you? Why sign up?"

"I drew it out of a hat," I said, which made his eyebrows shoot up. "No, really. We were in fifth year and I still had no idea what I wanted to be. I took the OWL and NEWT classes for Auror Training on a whim. Barely passed, but hey; I'm here."

"For what it's worth," he said, looking straight into my eyes, "I think you're good. You're better at the obstacle course than I am, anyhow."

At this point, my stomach did a belly flop. Not nice.

Not nice at all.

"Yeah, well. You're great at the evening Resocialization classes. I still panic," I said. He shrugged.

"I guess this makes us a good tag team, eh?" I said. "We kinda cancel some things out."

"Yeah," he murmured.

He held my gaze for the longest time that it hurt to breathe. All I saw were the grey eyes and the pale lashes, and how his face seemed to be coming closer and closer. My eyelids fluttered shut.

"There you are!" Agnes cried behind us. My eyes flung open and I drew back. I snuck a look at him, and his expression has smoothed out, his eyes betraying nothing.

When Agnes reached us, she took one look at my face, and at Scorpius', and something seemed to click at the back of her head. She grinned sheepishly at me.

"Agnes!" I said through gritted teeth. "What're you doing here?"

"The girls and I are playing four-sided Wizard chess, and we needed a fourth player. Gina told me you went up here. Hello, Malfoy," she said in a rush. He rubbed his neck and nodded in response.

"Well, I should be getting back, too." He stood and jumped, landing with a thump beside Agnes. He smiled at her before turning to me.

"Apology accepted, Rose. See you."

"Yeah," I said, watching his retreating back. When he was out of earshot, Agnes wrung her hands.

"I am so, so, so sorry! But permit me this—really; Malfoy? Do you want to be another notch in his bedpost?"

"Come off it, Agnes," I said. "It's nothing."

At least, I fervently hope so.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for being patient with this chapter. It's very long and took a while for me to write. As always, comments and suggestions are welcome. Hope you enjoyed!**


	8. There's Always a First Time, Ricky Lyons

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. But you knew that already. And I apologize for the delay in updating; I recently signed for a busy project. Anyway, here's the next chapter, please enjoy—**

* * *

**7 September 2024**

_**Tower Infirmary**_

_**9:10 PM**_

_My humiliation is complete. Fates, if you're there, consider this my terminal leave. I will not be your butt monkey anymore._

_Please?_

* * *

I should have stayed away from Portus Magi, tried to reason with my father, convince him that there are other ways to infiltrate the organization. Instead, at a quarter to six, I stood in front of the apothecary on Tower Alley, waiting for my second. Speaking of, I have come up with a couple of reasons why he attempted what he did yesterday. It took me all day, but I can now take comfort in the fact that yesterday's non-event was not a burp in the fabric of reality. Nor did I hallucinate it all.

The first reason came to me twice—once during free time, and another before going to Portus Magi.

Ten minutes to six. He was walking the bookshop owner's assistant. She was riveted by him, and he had one arm wrapped casually around her shoulder. Stopping in front of the bookshop (two stores away), he leaned in to whisper something terribly funny to her. At least, I assumed it was funny—she giggled shyly at him, before rushing back into the store.

Earlier today, he was at the independent practice courts, "teaching" a second level initiate how to target the boards properly. I'm pretty sure all she was learning were the color of his eyes and the cologne he uses, because Scorpius is rubbish at Marksmanship.

Yup. I felt better about myself. This just proves that I am a healthy young woman, prone as any to the guiles of healthy young men, with whom I am not necessarily willing to settle down. I was congratulating myself at my being so well-adjusted, that I didn't notice I was smiling at the lamppost across the street.

"What are you so happy about?" he said, folding his arms across his chest, an amused look on his face. I did not notice him arrive.

"Nature," I sighed, meeting his eyes. "I am happy for nature." Before he could press me for details, I walked towards Portus Magi's headquarters down the street.

The headquarters' façade resembled a storybook brick house. It even had the white picket fence and wraparound porch. In front of the house stood an older student I assumed to be with Portus Magi. He was a little taller than Scorpius, and had brown hair that curled around his neck. His dark eyes were sharp, calculating, but a smile stretched tight across his face when we came closer.

"Good evening. Come in—you're in time for the banquet." He shook our hands. "I am Sean Althen, from Internal Affairs." I grinned at his hand for a bit, and saw Scorpius shake it. I don't know if I should have taken that.

"Good evening. I'm Scorpius Malfoy, Rose Weasley's second," he said, gesturing at me. Althen's eyes flickered at Scorpius' surname, and his grin became larger. He nodded perfunctorily at me, but turned back to Scorpius.

"A Malfoy! Chancellor Fowler will be pleased to know that a _Malfoy_ is trying out this year. We hope you find the headquarters adequate." I found myself thinking, _I'm here too! He's _my_ second!_

As if he could hear my thoughts, he turned to me. "And we are also pleased to have you here, Miss Weasley. Such brilliant parents, we could expect no less from you," he said oilily. Hoo boy. Althen was looking at me expectantly—should I have said something to that?

"Well, I hope I'm half as bad as they are," I managed, and he laughed loudly, ushering us in.

* * *

Portus Magi's headquarters looked smaller on the outside. We were standing in a foyer, and facing two identical marble entryways. We took the one where voices were coming from and found ourselves in an expansive dining hall. The ceiling was painted with scenes from mythology—satyrs running after shrieking nymphs, sirens beckoning at awestruck sailors, the battle at Troy raging at the far end. Down below were two long tables with about two dozen chairs each, some of which were already occupied. I saw Ricky Lyons on the far end of one table, and I turned excitedly to Scorpius.

"There he is! I'll say hello." I waited for him to glance our way. When he did, I gave a small but hearty wave, one that hopefully said _I'm glad you remember me, but not too glad._

He called out to someone named Graves, who had just entered and was behind Scorpius and I.

"Maybe Prince Charming has a short memory," Scorpius said with a wry smile, and I battled a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Maybe he didn't see me wave. And he's not Prince Charming."

We took the other table, the emptier one. Ricky's table was filling up with older students, who seemed to know each other very well. They were clapping each other on the back and laughing; from what I gathered, this is their first official assembly of the year.

Scorpius and I are the only first years around. He had no problems with it, though—he turned his chair, facing someone at the other table. They were comparing wizarding hotels in New Delhi. Everyone seemed to be talking about some vacation or another, in the Alps, or Sao Paolo, or somewhere as interesting. _Maybe if I keep my mouth shut_, I thought, _they won't talk to me about my trips. I don't want to admit that the farthest I've been from home is Hogwarts._ I did not have to wait long for fellow first years, though—Lionel Dawlish sat at our table with Lorcan Scamander. We were also joined by Beatrice Farley, the tiny girl Professor Shacklebolt chose on the first day of Magic Resocialization.

"Hi, Rose," she whispered.

"Hey, Bea. Who are you here with?"

"Oh—my sister Carlota is automatically my first." She gestured at the front of Ricky's table, at a girl with a squarish jaw and a long neck. "Her own first graduated last year."

"Lucky you," Lionel said. "I'm stuck with Lorcan; he's the only one in our dorm room who agreed to come tonight." At this Lorcan's back straightened, and he glared at Lionel.

"Lucky _you_, Dawlish," he said, shoving Lionel jokily. "Have you seen me in Magic Resocialization?"

"Yeah. Agnes wipes the floor with you, usually."

"Why did you not ask her, then, if you're so keen on her skills?" Lorcan was looking crosser by the second, Bea had her head bowed low, and I scrambled for a way to turn the conversation around. I was bracing for another response from Lionel, and the fallout that might happen, when he just picked up a fork and mumbled incoherently. I couldn't believe it.

"You like my roommate?" I said, and he sputtered a refusal, but it was too late—we spent the next few minutes dreaming up scenarios for her and the steadily reddening Lionel.

* * *

Just as we were discussing the names of their children, Althen walked in and closed the dining hall doors. He stood at the head of the two tables and pointed a wand at his throat.

"Welcome, everyone! To our new recruits, we are pleased you decided to come. To our old farts, what are you doing here?" The other table laughed at this, and he continued.

"You all know me, but before I let you eat, I want to introduce our other officers."

He started with the Secretariat, a nervous-looking witch named Artemis Wimple, who gave a furious nod at random points across the room before sitting down. Next was Eric Flourish, head of External Affairs, and the person Scorpius was talking to, Vice Chancellor Ram Vaswani.

"And finally, our Chancellor—Andrea Fowler."

Fowler rose from her seat, and the entire club fell silent. She looked like a queen, with smooth dark hair in a plait, china doll features, and robes that looked like they came from the same dressmaker as Scorpius'. I wondered how she became the head of a dueling club. She drew her eyes around the room, and they landed on us first level initiates. She stared at us appraisingly, not speaking the whole time, but when her eyes met mine I felt like she was memorizing my face. Alright, _that's _why she's Chancellor. I don't think I'll enjoy facing her in a battle anytime soon. Or ever, really.

"Now that's magnificent," Scorpius muttered appreciatively, and I kicked his ankle sideways.

When Fowler sat back down, Althen clapped his hands, and the second years hurried out of the room. They came back moments later, levitating plates heaped with food and jugs of pumpkin juice. Once they set the food and drinks down, we digged in, and the hum of conversation returned.

I was starting to form plans for how I can gather leads for dad. Excusing myself and heading for the "ladies' room" seemed like a good option. Also, I imagined that after the dinner, there'll be more chitchat in the front hall before we leave. _Maybe at drinks, I can talk to a few senior members, _I thought_. _When Althen stood up and called our attention, I had a plan ready.

"It is customary," he began, turning to our side of the room, "for new recruits to show their talents on the first night at Portus Magi. Thus we begin the second part of tonight's programme, which will be held at the independent practice courts on Ratchet Drive. Officers, lead the way."

Bugger it all.

* * *

"You seem distracted," said Scorpius as we filed out of headquarters and walked to Ratchet Drive, the first street intersecting Tower Alley.

"What do you mean by that?" I said.

"Well, you weren't your usual prickly self at dinner. I threw a couple of bones your way—easy pickings, really, but you weren't biting. Not one peep from you. What's up?"

"Nothing's _up_. And I don't need bones handed out. I'm capable of tearing them off."

"Ooh. I'm scared."

"You're wise to be."

We entered the practice courts and walked to the open range. I did not see any targets set up, and was asking Scorpius about it when Fowler raised her hand. Again, the silence, and without a single word from her. I should learn how to do that.

"Firsts, step forward." She nodded at the five of us who did—Lionel, Bea's sister, two other first years, and I. "No target practice. You are to battle your seconds. The one who loses his or her wand loses the match. For the first round, let us have—" she walked towards me, and it took all my willpower to not look away.

"You. Your name?" she asked.

"I—uh—Rose. Weasley."

"Ricky, she's the one you told me about?" He stepped forward and came up beside her, smiling.

"Yes. She had Demetria Lane's book in her bag. A first level initiate reading Professor Lane!"

"I hope you recommended her because you saw something other than a book in a bag," she said, and I heard several senior members titter. My cheeks felt hot, and I did not dare look elsewhere.

"I remember reading in the Portus log that her uncle turned down an invitation when they were here at the Tower," she added. "What makes you think she'll stay?"

"Trust me, Andy. When have my instincts failed? I found you Sean and Ram, didn't I?" he said. He winked at me. "Want to say something, Rose?"

My throat felt thick with peanut butter as I shook my head. "I'll let my dueling speak for itself," I said.

"Let's start, then." Fowler gestured for everyone to clear a space for Scorpius and I. My heart was threatening to burst from my chest as we took our positions. We whipped our wands out and bowed. Scorpius looked relaxed—how dare he look that way—as he waited for my first strike.

"Pertusis," I said, and arrows shot out of my wand and headed for him. He cast a Shield charm on himself, and my arrows bounced off. I kept firing the wand arrows, but his shield just repelled them.

"This is so boring," I heard Fowler say, and I wanted to shove one of my arrows up her long nose. Ricky laughed. "Give them a chance, love," he said. Oh man, he called her _what?_

Well, they kinda look good together, anyway. Like Arthur and Guinevere or something.

I tried to change my approach. "Glisseo," I shouted, pointing at the dirt under Scorpius' feet, and he slipped, his shield dissipating as his concentration wavered. He pointed his wand at me shakily.

"Confringo!" he said, managing to tear a hole through my robes. He cast a counter curse on the ground I hexed, and he managed to stand up straight again.

We rained Blasting Curses on each other, scattering grass and dirt everywhere. People were backing away for fear of getting hurt by a wayward blast, but Fowler, the other officers, and Ricky stayed put.

"Incarcerous," I said, and thick ropes wound around his torso, binding his arms to his sides. I was walking towards him, an apologetic look on my face, my hand reaching for his wand, when he looked directly at my eyes. It was then that I realized the second reason why he tried to kiss me.

I did not see defeat in his eyes. Scorpius played to win; always, with anyone, in anything.

"Stupefy!" He yelled. I saw red light rushing towards me before I blacked out.

* * *

When I came to, I was here at the Infirmary, with Scorpius on a chair beside my bed. The clock read five minutes to nine. "I've been out that long?" I croaked, and he turned to me.

"Well, yeah," he said, and I groaned. I remembered what I said to Fowler before the start of the duel. My dueling did speak for itself—it's saying I'm a bag of hot air.

"I won't be able to show my face there again," I said. "No thanks to you." He raised his hands in mock surrender, and I buried my face in the pillows.

"That's ridiculous," I heard him say. "It was a good duel, that's all they wanted. It's not like it was graded or anything. Plus, I'm happy you didn't use my fears against me, or I would've done it too, and I don't want to do that."

I took a deep breath. He seemed genuinely sorry, but I could not find it in me to be nice to him right now. Especially since he defeated me in front of all those duelers. And what exactly did he want me to say about that last statement? Thank you for not exploiting your knowledge of me?

* * *

_"Thank you for bringing me here, but I think I can manage from here on," I said. He shook his head._

_"Let me make it up to you. How can I do that?"_

_"You can start," I growled, "by leaving me alone."_

_"Hey, I said I was sorry, alright?"_

_"Accepted. Now leave."_

_"What has gotten into you, Rose? This isn't like you!"_

_"How would you know what I'm like? Couple weeks with me and you think you know me inside out? We are not friends, Scorpius. We train together. That's it."_

_As soon as those words left my mouth, I regretted them. He looked furious and disappointed at the same time, if that's possible. He stood up, and I prepared myself for an outburst. Only, all he did was nod, and head for the door, closing it behind him._

_I have a feeling treacle fudge won't cut it this time._

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please tell me what you think!**


	9. Even Witch Gonads Secrete Hormones

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. But you knew that already.**

* * *

Wonder if they'd allow me to skip classes tomorrow if I said I have acute motion sickness. Everything's just whooshing past me, it's mad. Like I went on half a dozen end to end trips on the Eurostar. I don't even have time to write anymore.

I've been here for almost two months now, and the chattering throng that was the student population of the Auror Tower has been reduced to a collection of vaguely human splotches of obedience. Some of them, at least. Those that didn't become Yes-People turned into harpies. They snapped at everyone who isn't an instructor and glared at everything else.

This started on the Monday right after the Portus orientation. That weekend, I braced myself for a week of bullying, pity, or both. Scorpius might not have as much clout in the Tower as he did at Hogwarts, but the name Malfoy still rings lots of gilded bells. Training partner or not, I shouted at him. I still have profound memories of what happened to people who antagonized him in school, and I was prepared for the worst week his money could buy.

Instead, Monday came and went. The hours just zipped past. Every blessed weekday, from six in the morning to six in the evening, all I had was a blur of drills, exercises, duels, lectures, and tests.

* * *

No one flinched at the amount of work. It costs energy, which cannot be spent on some frivolous, irrelevant exercise. Like flinching. During Resocialization, Scorpius and I hardly talked. We worked on the obstacle courses, stood side by side during Marksmanship, and even participated in Portus duels, but that was all. Our lecture classes have no common periods.

"It's done, it's irreversible," I said wanly to Agnes, who was poking at the remains of her waffles.

"What are you talking about?" she said, stifling a yawn. She reached for her glass of orange juice.

"Scorpius. The thing about us being just training partners. I realize that it's hurtful, and I gave him space during the first week. But it's been over a month, this is absurd."

Agnes sighed, setting her fork down. "I keep telling you. If you really want things to be okay between you, whatever that means, just apologize to him."

We stood up, cleared our table of our plates and glasses, and left for Shacklebolt's class. "I tried, okay. And he accepted. But I don't know; I feel like we're not talking like we used to—like there's—"

I mimed ramming against a wall several times.

"Well, didn't you want that to happen? For him to just leave you alone?" Agnes said.

The bell rang, and I was spared a reply. Shacklebolt was already in the practice court, directing some of our fellow initiates into groups. Several copies of Flintlock were all around the room—they were poised above parchment, ready to take notes.

Our instructor saw us enter. "Over here," he said, pointing at an already assembled circle to his left. We joined Lionel, Connor, Lorcan, and—surprise, surprise—Scorpius. I stood beside him and offered a smile, my insides churning. He briefly nodded, turning back to Shacklebolt, and the churning was replaced by a leaden feeling. I couldn't look at Agnes in the eye.

"For the past few weeks, you have been working on various spell casting drills," Shacklebolt began once everyone got settled. I looked at my partner, who was staring straight ahead.

"—your enemies won't be lined up, ready to receive your hits—"

He moved a hand through his messy blond hair.

"—not all aggressors, some are civilians—"

His chest rose and fell with a slowness my heartbeat couldn't relate with at that moment.

"—why Concealment and Disguise is required next semester—"

He probably sensed I was gaping and turned to me. His eyes seemed to ask, _what? _But my throat choked back anything I thought of saying. I settled for seeing how long I could get him to stare.

This could work, Rose. You've read it in mum's books—people do it all the time so they'll learn how to get over irrational fears. Just get used to those impossibly gray eyes and that rumpled blond hair and the memory of what is definitely underneath those robes. You can do it. No need to get your knickers all knotted up. Just stare at him and feel the physical attraction melt away.

Oh, bloody _brilliant_. Way to show cooperation, glands.

Maybe it's too much, too soon. I'd be better off staring at his fingernails for an entire week, and then moving to other parts of his anatomy.

Heh. Other parts. Heh heh.

"—know the difference. Be attentive. Isn't that right, Weasley and Malfoy?"

Scorpius said "Yes, absolutely," the same time I said "Correct, sir," and Shacklebolt's eyebrows shot up. He kept his eyes on us when he resumed talking. I can feel my ears turning bright red.

"You will be working in groups for the second phase of training. Take turns wearing these," he said, holding up a few sheets of dark cloth. Lionel stepped forward to collect our cloth, as did members of the other groups.

"As you wear this, your fellow trainees will arrange themselves into a scene. There may be hostiles, or friendlies, or both—it's up to them. What matters is that they're in place when I lift the blindfold, and that you react to the scenario before you. Flintlock will deduct points for incorrect reactions."

He passed around some fake wands, one for each person. "Each group starts with 100 points. The group with the least points at the end of the exercise will be penalized. People who bring out their real wands will likewise be penalized. I will not have half of you sporting holes where you shouldn't and the other half carted away to Azkaban."

* * *

For a few seconds, we all just sort of stared at the cloth in Lionel's hand, and then I heard Connor say, "I'll go first." Agnes tied the blindfold over his eyes and I led him away from the group. All around the room, people were finding ways to keep their "It" from hearing. Shacklebolt summoned an hourglass, and with a wave of his hand, sent the sand trickling down.

"Right, then, how will we do this?" Agnes said once I got back, her hands on her hips.

"We'll be doing a mixed scene, of course," said Lionel. "But who'd be hostile and who'd be friendly?"

"I think I have a plan," Scorpius said slowly. "Lionel and Agnes, you can be the attackers. You stand on opposite sides to Connor. Lorcan and I'll be friendlies, but we'll mostly get in the way. Rose," he stopped and looked at me thoughtfully. Oh, goody, an excuse to stare at him.

"You'll be a Muggle," he said.

"What do you mean by that, exactly?"

"Nothing! What the hell, Weasley?"

Half my relatives are Muggles, but I don't want to play one in a scene where spells, even fake ones, are flying around. I kind of feel helpless, and this bogus wand isn't helping. I pointed it at him and tried to look as threatening as I could.

"Think only Purebloods should play wizards don't you," I said.

"Weasley, hang on! Merlin! I thought you'd be good at acting like a Muggle because—well, because you know. But I don't mean that in an offensive way. This is really confusing," he said in one breath.

I glowered before I left them to get Connor. Barely seconds after I positioned myself between him and the rest of the group, the blindfold flew off.

I ducked. Well, ducked and ran away, more like. What was I supposed to do, pull out my gun and get hit by an Unforgivable Curse? That's what most Muggles get when they meddle. Dad told me.

My ears were ringing with the shouts from the different groups. I looked at Connor. He was doing an alright job, I think; he managed to keep Anges and Lionel on one side, and he was "instructing" Scorpius to heal Lorcan, keep his head down and contact other members of magical law enforcement. A series of flares erupted from one side of the room, and we all stopped, looking at Shacklebolt. He was as impassive as ever. I went back to the group—they were congratulating Connor for his work. I patted him on the back and tried not to look at Scorpius.

"I'll be next," said Lorcan. Once he was out of earshot, Agnes sprang into action.

"We'll do a mixed scenario. Lionel, Connor and I will be hostile. Scorpius and Rose, you'll be friendlies on a date." I swear I saw a malicious glint in Agnes' eyes.

"A date? We would never be on any sort of date," I said.

"Like I'd want to date self-absorbed fire trees," Scorpius said irritably. Agnes raised an eyebrow.

"First of all, Lorcan's weakness is seeing romance. He's sappy like that. Second, it's no big deal for training partners, right?"

I am going to murder her in her sleep.

"Come up to him, ask how he's doing. Have your backs to us. It'll help if you're very sweet to each other," she added, winking at me.

Murder with a teaspoon.

When Connor led Lorcan back to the group, Agnes and Lionel took their place a few paces behind Scorpius and I. He was keeping a respectful distance between us, which I might find proper in other situations, but we don't need that right now.

"Malfoy, you have to hold Rose's hand or something. We need appropriate responses," Connor whispered as he hurried past us. If I could just capture the look of horror on Scorpius' face. On the one hand, am I that repulsive to him? Didn't he try to kiss me once? On the other hand, his "I'm doomed" face is just so funny. Either way, he's not coming closer. Oh, well. Some things you have to do yourself.

Lorcan's blindfold was lifted off, and I snatched Scorpius' hand, twining my fingers around his. An incredibly baffled expression settled upon Lorcan's face, and decided it would be a good spot for afternoon tea.

"Lorcan, how are you? How many years has it been since Hogwarts?" I said, leaning my head on Scorpius' shoulder. A smile replaced Lorcan's confused look.

"Quite a bit, Rose. Hello Malfoy," he said. Scorpius nodded like his neck was made of cinderblocks.

"Well, W—Rose and I are house hunting in your area." Scorpius hugged my waist, pulling me close.

Why are you like this, glands?

Lorcan's smile grew wider and rattled off what could only be names of streets in his neighborhood. If it weren't for the points, I would've reminded him that Scorpius and I weren't really together, and that he should cut down on the enthusiasm. Thankfully, Agnes decided it was a good time to start firing, because I heard them shout behind us. Scorpius pulled me to one side, Lorcan snapped back into Auror mode, and we tried to duel with our three other group mates.

Once the flares shot across the court, Lorcan shook his head. "That was Agnes' work, wasn't it?" he said.

"Oh, yes, it was entirely her idea," I said, jerking my thumb at my roommate. Everyone laughed.

For Agnes, we were all friendlies, but she panicked and misfired at Lorcan. Lionel received all hostiles, and he was superb, I think. He took at least half of us before someone hit him with a fully incapacitating curse. I also got hostiles, and I managed to hit three of them too, but only because I lucked out on Connor catching the spell intended for Lorcan.

Scorpius got friendlies, and it took all of my strength to not stick my fake wand up his nose. When the blindfold was whipped off, and he got a good look at us, he smirked.

"What a happy day this is," he drawled. "Well, I hope you're all alright," he added. He doffed an imaginary hat at us in goodbye and walked to a far side of the court to watch the other groups.

"Is 'what a jerk' an appropriate response to a jerk?" I asked Agnes, who just shook her head and smiled.

"Well, he didn't really have to stick around, he has a point," she said mildly.

* * *

The last of the flares erupted, and we made our way back to Shacklebolt.

"The trainees with the least points are—" our instructor pointed at a group including Bea Farley. "Flintlock recorded a total of 53 points for your group. The rest of you may leave."

I'm just glad I won't find out what the penalty is for losing today. As I followed the rest of the trainees out, my mind sifted through the events like a highlights reel for football.

I didn't do so badly, I think. Could've been better.

But I really need to get over this infatuation with Scorpius. I can't imagine a law enforcer who can be turned by a single glance—or a smile—or the feeling of her crush's arms around her waist—

I really, really need to get over this. My being an Auror depends on it. But how?

* * *

**A/N: Hello, thank you so much for reading. I appreciate all of your follows, favorites, and reviews; your support is one of the reasons why I keep at this. ****I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as I did writing it. **

**To clear something up: Ivan Shacklebolt is part of Ministry Security. In my head, this is equivalent to a head of state's security detail. Harry Potter is, at least for this fanfic, still the head of the Aurors. ****:-)**


	10. Wake Me Up When The Weekend Ends

_**25 October 2024**_

_**Room 121**_

_**12:30 AM**_

_Today I was visited by our family owl. After my last afternoon class, I entered our dorm to the sight of her furiously tapping on our window._

_"I just got here, too," said Gina, who was snapping on her Quidditch shin guards. "She yours?"_

_I nodded, let the owl in, and took the scrap of parchment tied to her leg. She nipped my hand affectionately before flying off, and I opened the note to see a familiar rounded scrawl._

_Rosie, we need to talk about the thing I asked._

* * *

"Dad, Portus is innocent. At least, as innocent as dueling clubs can get. What I mean is, they don't seem involved in anything worse than the illegal break-ins. Nothing's been stolen in the houses, I checked during my free day." My only free day that week, I was tempted to add.

I bullied Agnes into coming with me to the Muggle houses on dad's list. At first, she was hesitant, but pretending to be backpacking nature trippers appealed to her, so she went along. Apparently, Portia and Diane, fresh out of boarding school and seeing the world, are believable enough. Several of the house owners talked to us, all with the same story. They were out for the night, and found an open window or door when they got home. Nothing out of place except that.

He snorted. "They're about as harmless as Ginny is with her Bat-Bogey hexes," he said darkly.

"Aunt Ginny _is_ harmless, you know, that's a bad analogy."

He shook his head. "Rose, if you're going to be a proper Auror, you better not write people off like you do. Your aunt can take care of herself, believe me."

I can't imagine my sweet, kindly aunt doing hexes. Must verify this with her kids.

"Anyway, I'd best be off. We're doing the swamp again," I said.

My dad grimaced. "Don't you love the part where you have to run over the Dugbog lairs?"

"Absolutely. They're real charmers. Everyone in class had bleeding ankles for the first couple of days."

We laughed until he had to shoo me away. "Just call if you have anything else for me," he said.

* * *

I exited the booth and made my way to Evening Resocialization. The sky was a dark, cloudy purple, with the faintest hint of sun in the horizon. The three pubs we had in the Tower were alive with laughter and music, and the shops were closing their blinds and locking their doors. Even Portus' windows were ablaze with lights. I sighed, rounded the corner and entered the arena.

The already familiar smell of peat and cedar hit my nostrils. We'd been working through this course for the past few days, and on other courses before then. For a while, we had a forest, and then a jungle. After the swamp, who knows what we'd be doing next.

My fellow trainees were milling about at the mouth of the course, wand tips glowing with _Lumos_. Outside, there were still blots of orange in the sky, but inside the arena, it seemed to be near midnight. I nodded at Agnes and Lorcan.

"Good work at the blindfolds today," I said, smiling at the two of them.

"We were all good," said Lorcan diplomatically. "Brilliant how you figured out that Agnes and I were undercover. I thought we were being more hostile than necessary."

"Nah. It's just good guesswork on my part," I said.

I stopped to talk to Bea Farley. There wasn't much that I remembered in our conversation, because there was something interesting happening behind her.

Scorpius was with Deirdre, who was talking fast and gesturing with her hands. It was the liveliest I'd seen her become, which is a nice surprise, but I was slightly put off by how intensely he was looking at her. Once in a while, he would run a hand through his hair, fluffing it up. He even touched her shoulder a couple of times. She seemed oblivious to it all, but he had the air of a cat about to pounce. I wanted to snatch my roommate away, but I was afraid I'll look crazy.

Tuttle's boots squelched through the mud, interrupting my thoughts. We knew the drill, and lined up beside our partners before she reached her favorite spot. When she faced us, she drew her wand and aimed skyward. People all around me tensed, and everyone sprang when she fired.

No one wants kitchen duty after dinner.

"_Oilskin_," I muttered, pointing at my robes, rushing into the course afterward.

"Malfoy," I shouted. "Where are you?" My sleeve snagged in some low branches, and I struggled to free myself with one hand. I sighed. Yesterday, I was the one who had to hold the light while he kept his wand ready for attacks, and I didn't leave him. Not once.

I brought out my wand. "_Lumos_," I said, swinging it around, but the light hit nothing but trees and undergrowth. Once we entered the course, we couldn't hear or see anyone but our partner, and right now mine was having a grand old time playing hide and seek. The silence was making me edgy.

A high-pitched screech broke the silence. I'm pretty sure wasn't from Scorpius, but the bang that came afterwards might've been from his wand. I hesitated for a moment before retracing my steps. Slogging through the dank terrain, I tried calling his name again. After a few minutes I saw a white flare shoot up into the inky sky. I scrambled towards the direction of the flare.

"Am I close?" I said aloud. I heard a groan from beyond a patch of laurel, and I pushed the brush aside.

Oh man. Scorpius was sitting, back against a tree, his face cut up. I knelt beside him, and he grimaced. "Took long enough," he gasped out. "Limbs bruised," he added.

"You look terrible! What happened?"

"Red cap," he said, wincing as he spoke. Blood was trickling from his lip.

Remorse washed over me. Red caps don't attack people unless they're alone; if Scorpius was with me, he wouldn't have been targeted. But as soon as I started feeling guilty, it was replaced by indignation. If he just stayed and waited for me, he wouldn't have been alone to begin with.

"What's that?" he said thickly, eyes wide with alarm, as I leveled my wand with his cheek.

"Shut up. I'm helping you." I started to whisper a spell, but he stayed my hand.

"You sure?" he said.

I stared pointedly at him, and he relented, closing his eyes. After I was done, he moved his arms and legs, and touched his face gingerly. "How'd you do that?" he said.

I shrugged. "With a thousand cousins and Quidditch practice, you're bound to learn a few tricks. Good thing nothing went too deep or I wouldn't have been able to patch you up."

I peered closer at him. "How did the Red cap get to you, though? They're pretty easy to hit with a Stunning spell."

He lifted his spell casting hand. "It's a bit stiff from the wand exercises. I wasn't very quick to jinx it," he said, and I felt for him. For the past few days, we'd been doing these exercises. Lift your hand, slash the air, and bring it down, that sort of thing. For a gangly person like me, it's not that difficult, but I imagine it must've been hellish for others. Lionel Dawlish, who has meaty arms, was sweating, and that's all we were doing—lift, slash, bring down.

"Do you need to rest for a bit?" I said. I was surprised at the softness in my own voice. Apparently, he was, too; a perplexed look crossed his face. He shook his head.

We didn't talk much after that; we lost much time, and had a lot of ground to cover. He practically flew across the course, and I struggled to keep up, blasting Dugbogs when they tried to bite our feet. Sometimes, all I could see was the light on his wand tip, and I just kept it in sight. I caught up with him eventually, and he gave me a half smile, which I returned.

I like running with him. I don't know why; we don't even speak.

* * *

After almost an hour we emerged from the swamp, and I walked to a patch of dry grass and plopped down on it. He sat beside me.

"I thought that Red cap was going to beat me to death. Thanks for coming back."

I looked at the other people who have started to come out. "Don't mention it," I said. I meant it—he made it like I was some sort of hero. I had no choice but to come back, anyway; we had to complete the course together.

"Next time, I'll try to be more creative with the thank you," he said before walking away. I stared up at the black sky of the arena. It's nothing. Just him being nice.

When I looked back down, he was talking to Deirdre again. They had their heads bent together, and she was patting his back softly. Meanwhile, Scorpius was preening again. An ugly feeling I couldn't name bloomed in my chest, and it gripped tighter when my roommate threw her head back and laughed.

Tuttle cleared her throat, and everyone fell silent. "Good work on the wetlands course," she said, and it got a few appreciative murmurs from our group. "Yang and Corner, you're on kitchen duty tonight."

"Next week, we start with survival training," she continued. "Further details will be discussed onsite." She swept her eyes around, and gave us a rare smile. "Enjoy your weekend," she said, before dismissing us for the evening.

We filed out of the arena. A part of the crowd petered into the pubs, intent on celebrating before our first day on the field. I followed Agnes and Lorcan into the mess hall, hanging behind them.

Tonight, the mess hall dinner tasted like cardboard. I chewed distractedly, the conversations around me just a faint humming in the distance. Survival training. I can't even camp in our backyard without freaking out, and now I have to do it for days? And how in Circe's name will the sleeping arrangements be like? I seriously contemplated switching partners with Lorcan, at least just at night.

* * *

_Some target practice will be a good distraction_, I thought. After eating, I went to the practice courts, and made a beeline for the only available spellcasting range. _Survival training…further details onsite…_ I took a deep breath.

"_Satus," _I said. I fell into place, waiting for the moving targets to come into view.

This range isn't my favorite. It uses Bludgers as targets, and I've the most practice being a Chaser or a Keeper. From the corner of my eye, I saw something move. I turned and fired at the target, sending it spiraling back to its cage. A few seconds later, the next one came, this time from the left. It turned frantic, bursts of light flying in all directions, balls coming from the front, back, and sides. My wand was a blur of light brown as I flicked it from target to target. Sweat was trickling down my brows, and I was feeling a dull ache in my side, but I ignored it.

The pain was spreading, but the targets kept coming. I crouched, resting my forehead on my knees. Damn stitch. Overhead, the targets were smashing against each other. I stood up, wincing as a Bludger rammed against my stomach.

"_Finite," _I coughed out, and the targets froze, falling to the ground. I sighed. To my rough estimate, I blasted a quarter—not even half. I sent them back to the Bludger cage.

"Less than half," a voice behind me said, echoing my thoughts. I turned and found myself looking into Ricky Lyons' deep blue eyes.

"Had a stitch in my side," I said, putting my wand back in my robes. His dark hair flopped over his forehead, and his face was flushed—he'd also probably been training.

How do you look that good after a workout, though?

"You don't drop by headquarters a lot," he said. It was a statement, not a question, and I didn't know how to respond to it. I settled for shrugging.

"Your second spends much more time at Portus," he added, eyebrows lifted. _Say what?_

"Does he now?" I said nonchalantly, making my way to the stands. "I don't see why he wouldn't. He appears to have more in common with them than I do."

"I agree. He appears to have a lot of things in common with the women of Portus. In the past week alone, I've seen him cozy up to—" he glanced at me. "—I mean, he talks to both men and women. But not in _that_ way_, _mind. But who knows, eh, I haven't really talked to him. Er. I think I'll shut up now."

"No, please, go on. I enjoy hearing about my training partner's romantic life," I said, and he grinned.

Let it be noted that I have no delusions of getting together with Ricky. But I do find him handsome. The way he acts, though, makes you think that he's genuinely unaware that he looks good. Or maybe he's trying not to make such a big deal out of it.

Unlike some people.

We sat in a rather awkward silence. I didn't know what to do with my hands, so I pretended to be very interested in my split ends. Well, actually, it was interesting; there are so much more of them now. I should buy some serum. Or ask Gina what potion she uses on her hair.

"You don't look at them properly," he said. I frowned—I had no idea what he was talking about—and he nodded at the direction of the Bludgers. "The targets, you don't look at them properly."

I wanted to tell him that if I had a hankering for riddles, I would've talked to a sphinx. But I just stood up and gestured towards the cage. "Show me," I said.

We started walking. "You have two kinds of Bludgers here," he started. "There's the kind that comes after you, and those that are just attracted to explosions. Every time you start a fresh round, there'll be about fifteen Bludgers that'll attack you directly. What you have to do, then—"

"—is to find them first," I finish. "Why did I not notice something like that?"

"Ready when you are," he said, reaching for his wand.

* * *

A while later, we counted the number of targets we hit. "Almost all of them, yeah?" I said, which cracked him up. Still chuckling, he sent the Bludgers back to the cage. I was about to ask him if he wanted to start again, when he put a hand to his eyebrows and groaned.

"I forgot to walk with Andy back to her dorm. She's at Portus, and—I'm really sorry. She wigs out when I don't keep my promises. I have to leave."

"No problem, go," I said, and pushing him towards the doors. He flashed me one last (perfect) smile before rushing out. I sighed—Chancellor Fowler's one lucky girl.

I had to go, too. A glance at my watch told me that it was nearing nine, and the practice courts would close soon. Deliberately, I chose a path to the dorms that led away from the club. My training partner might still be there, and I don't want any more awkward encounters with him. _Note to self, _I thought, _devise a way to Malfoy-proof my weekend._

I stifled a yawn as I headed for our dorm room. With any luck, I thought, Agnes is still at the pubs, Gina's with her Quidditch friends, and Deirdre's sleeping or reading a book. I just wanted to lie down and pass out. And wake up on Monday.

Just as I thought, Deidre was snuggled in bed, her back to the door. She probably fell asleep reading again, because the lights were on and a book was lying on the floor. It made me smile a bit.

I plumped my pillow and was ready to jump in when I saw a single rose tucked between my sheets. There was a note with the it, and I unfolded the bit of parchment.

* * *

_Hi._

_I'm inviting you to lunch tomorrow._

_(This is me being creative with my thank you's.)_

_S_

Well, bloody hell.

* * *

**I'm sorry this took so long! Also, credits to Matisse Gacioppo for being such a trooper. It's a thankless job Beta-ing fanfics.**

**Love the fic? Hate it? Tell me why; leave me a review. Once again, thanks for reading.**


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